


Life of Payne

by SunTomato, Velvetoscar



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cruel Intentions Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:26:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunTomato/pseuds/SunTomato, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetoscar/pseuds/Velvetoscar
Summary: Based on VelvetOscar's Gods & Monsters.(If you haven't read it, please read it. Right now.)It was supposed to be a game. The final game. Louis was supposed to conquer Harry Styles, and destroy him.How could Liam have known that Louis would fall in love with him? That sending him after Harry would be the thing that would tear it all apart?*Disclaimer: Obviously, this is a work of fiction. It is in no way a representation of the people who (unknowingly) inspired the story and characters. This work does not reflect my thoughts on the actual people, whom I greatly respect. It's fiction, people. Plain and simple.So be respectful, treat people with kindness, and enjoy!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Velvetoscar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetoscar/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Gods & Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090982) by [Velvetoscar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetoscar/pseuds/Velvetoscar). 



> After reading VelvetOscar's Gods & Monsters, I was blown away. It took me from cuteness overload to heart shatter, and everything in between.
> 
> So after rereading it a couple of times, I was inspired to find out more about Liam in this story. So I decided to *try* and write Gods & Monsters from Liam's point of view.  
> As it's set to align with the plot in G&M, some of the dialogue will be found in this as well. No harm or plagiarism is intented-- VelvetOscar deserves full credit. 
> 
> It's really just my attempt at trying to write and explore Liam's character in this story.  
> If you're taking the time to read this: thank you.
> 
> Any feedback is welcome, so please let me know what you think.

**PROLOGUE**

 

Liam turns as the double doors of auditorium open, and a boy with brown, floppy curls pokes his head in. He scans the room, still shielded by the large, wooden doors, before he spots someone at the front and tentatively steps into the large hall.

“Who is that?” Liam gestures to the doors of the auditorium. 

The boy is making his way towards the front of the hall, his eyes trained on his feet, and his hands tucked into his pockets. He doesn’t look up until he gets to Professor Sheridan, who greets him with a warm smile and a handshake. 

“Harry, good to see you! Welcome to choir. We’re glad you could make it,” Sheridan beams. 

“We are?” Liam frowns at Lars, who looks equally puzzled. 

“Hey, Fel?” Liam calls to a girl who is unstacking chairs a couple of feet away. “Who is that?” She shoves the last ones in a neat row, and makes her way over. 

Felicity is always the first to know about new students. One of the perks of having a sister who works in Student Registrations. 

“Oh,” she says, glancing over at Harry from Liam’s side. “That’s Harry Styles. He just transferred here.”

“Styles, you say? Doesn’t ring a bell. Who’s his family?” Liam’s never heard of them, so they can’t be that important.

“Not sure, actually. I think he moved here with just his mom and sister, though.” Felicity looks at Harry, who is now shaking hands with a couple of students, all blushes and wide smiles. 

“He’s pretty cute, right?” She giggles a little. “And smart, too.”

“How smart?” Liam looks at the boy with the curly hair and wool jumper.

“Best in his year at his last school.”

Liam turns to the girl. “No shit. This kid?”

“Yup. He’s got beauty  _ and _ brains.” She smiles at Liam, and then turns on her heel and walks up to the group of chattering teenagers.

Liam watches Harry for a few minutes. He beams as more people are introduced to him, smiling dimples and eyes filled with sparkles. His messy curls dangle in his face, as he makes hopeless attempts to tuck them behind his ears. 

A lot of people are talking at him—Harry doesn’t seem to be saying all that much himself. Instead, he just looks at every person in front of him, listening intently, his attention seemingly undivided.

He’s quite tall, Liam notices, but somehow he looks like a small child -- his shoulders are hunched, and he’s playing with the ends of his sleeves, softly pulling the fabric with long, bony fingers. He actually looks a little endearing, like a lost puppy or something. And people are absolutely charmed by him.

“Mr. Payne,” Sheridan’s voice cuts through Liam’s thoughts. 

“Come here for a second?” Sheridan is waving his hand, motioning for Liam to join him. As Liam approaches him, Sheridan pulls Harry from the buzzing group. 

“Excuse us, everyone, I need to borrow Mr. Styles for a minute.” He steers Harry away by the shoulders until they’re both facing Liam. Harry smiles at him, casting his eyes to the ground every few seconds. He seems a little shy. Liam finds him a little endearing.   
  
“Harry, this is Liam Payne. He’s the Choir President,” Sheridan gestures to Liam, who nods and smiles to Harry. Liam looks at Sheridan curiously. Sheridan doesn’t usually introduce new members to him. Maybe he wants Liam to show Harry around?  It wouldn’t be the first time. Liam’s quite liked by the staff, as well as other students, so he’s been asked to take new students under his wings before.

“Mr. Payne, meet Harry Styles. He is the new Vice President.” 

Sorry, the new what!? Liam feels a little jarred. Why is there a Vice President? And since when does Liam fucking need one? 

Liam forces his face to remain neutral as he looks from Harry to Sheridan. 

“As it’s your senior year, you’ll be under extra pressure, so the board decided that sharing the workload would be a good idea,” Sheridan continues. “Harry was Choir President at his last school, so he’s an excellent match. We’re lucky to have you, Harry--“

Liam doesn’t hear the rest, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.  _ Share the workload _ ? So, what, they think he needs help? He feels the heat rise up in his body. Why the fuck does he need a Vice President? There wasn’t one last year. Or the year before that. He’s trying to look at this objectively, to not take it personally, but it’s pretty fucking difficult when he’s basically being told he needs help. Fuck that—Liam Payne doesn’t need help, okay? He doesn’t need anyone. 

Liam swallows hard, trying to keep a lid on the anger bubbling up inside him. Mercifully, one of the choirgirls whisks Harry away, chatting happily. Liam turns to Sheridan, careful to keep his face composed. 

“Sir, is there a reason that you’re assigning a Vice President to choir this year?” He prays the tremble in his voice isn’t as obvious as it feels. He steadies his breath. 

“Like I said, Payne,” Sheridan says with a smile. “You’ve been doing a marvelous job, but this is your senior year. I expect you’ll be quite busy, considering you’re applying for Brenton.”

“I don’t need help, sir,” Liam says, sweetening his voice, and forcing a polite smile. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“It’s not an offer, Payne.” Sheridan smiles, but there’s a small frown on his face. “Harry has been given the responsibility of being Vice President, so that he, too, can put this on his application. It’s a step down for him, considering he was President at his former school, but he was more than happy—”

“His application?” Liam interjects bluntly. He knows he’s being rude, and he really should be more careful to hide his temper, but he doesn’t give shit right now.

“Yes”, Sheridan says, a little taken aback at Liam’s lack of manners. “Mr. Styles will also be applying to Brenton.”

Sheridan is rambling on about some other bullshit, but Liam doesn’t hear a word. He feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He feels winded. Styles is applying to  _ Brenton _ . Brenton—that only accepts a single student from each school. Brenton, that only offers a single spot.  _ His _ spot. The one  _ he _ ’s been working to get for the last four fucking years. The spot his parents expect him to get.

“—it’s just a bit of healthy competition, isn’t it?” Sheridan looks at Liam, clearly expecting a response. Liam snaps out of it. 

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he says, forcing himself back to the present. Then he registers Sheridan’s words, letting them sink in for a second. Competition. Of course—that’s all Styles is.

“Of course,” Liam says again, lifting his chin and looking Sheridan dead in the eye. “He’s just competition,” he says to Sheridan as much as to himself.

Liam’s had competition before. Sure, the stakes are higher this time. But he’s familiar with having competition, and Liam already knows just how to deal with him. He feels some of the weight fall off his shoulders. He feels his face relax and his fists unclench—huh, he didn’t realize he’d been balling them up at his side. 

Liam smiles widely at Sheridan, who nods at Liam, an odd expression on hjs face. But Liam ignores it. He simply extends his hand to Sheridan, who extends his own tentatively. Liam presses a firm hand to it. “Thank you, sir.”

Then Liam turns around and walks out of the auditorium, already punching the numbers onto his phone—Voicemail. Figures. “Tommo, get your ass out of bed. My place. One hour.”


	2. When Liam met Louis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some background story of when Liam met Louis, and how their friendship came to be.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some sexual content, so if that's not for you, feel free to skip the first part. :)
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this.

The first time Liam saw him, he was on his way to a party with some mates. They were high as fucking kites, and one of them had an unrelenting urge for chips, so they had the car pull up to the first pub they came across. They piled out of the car and into the street, stumbling loudly into the dingy little building. 

The pub was small, crammed with people, sipping their pints, loud and laughing. Liam spotted the worn bar at the back, crowded by people shouting their orders over the loud buzz of people and music. Serving some of them was a kid, about Liam’s age, expertly tapping beers and wiping the surfaces while casually chatting to the customers. He handed out one drink after the other, tapping pints and mixing cocktails, eyes glancing up casually, connecting with whatever face he was currently serving, smiling, winking. Fucking charmer. 

Liam stood watching him for a good couple of minutes before making his way to the bar. The pretty boy nodded at Liam, acknowledging him, still tapping some pints. He shoved them over the bar, the recipients smiling and walking off with them.

He is pretty, Liam has to admit. Now that he is up close, he can see the clear blue eyes, contrasting sharply with the dark hair framing even sharper cheekbones. Despite the boy’s fine features and narrow shoulders, he looks a little rugged. His face is partially covered in scruff, like he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. There are shadows under the boy’s eyes, like he hasn’t slept in a couple days either. But his eyes are bright and they have a twinkle in them as he looks over to Liam.

“What can I getcha, mate?” he shouts over the noise, pouring shots for the person in front of him. His blue eyes quickly scan Liam’s face, his clothes—Liam must look entirely out of place in his black leather jacket and Dolce and Gabbana shoes, his Rolex dangling casually on his wrist— and he can’t quite read the expression that flashes over the boy’s face.

“What can I get you?” the boy calls again, leaning over the bar, taking empty glasses, before moving in Liam’s direction. 

“Five pints,” Liam shouts back, “and a couple of those shots,” pointing to the now empty shot glasses sitting on the bar. The boy smiles, nods and starts tapping the pints, while pouring the shots at the same time. 

“Make it an extra shot,” Liam shouts, catching the boy’s eye, who nods and grabs another glass from somewhere under the bar. 

He places the pints and shots in front of Liam, who passes them on to his mates, leaving only his own beer and two of the shots. He hands the pretty face the cash, tipping generously, and downs one of the shots before shoving the other to the boy. Blue eyes flash up at him, locking eyes for a brief second, quirking an eyebrow.

“Cheers,” Liam says smiling, raising his pint to the boy, who chuckles, amused. He downs the shot, nods his thanks and moves off to take the next order.

They spend a few hours there, deciding they kind of like the place, and frankly too pissed to move anywhere else. Liam orders several more rounds, all from the boy with the cheekbones that cut glass. 

He watches him pour his drinks, pour others’ drinks, wiping down the slick bar top, tea towel thrown over one shoulder. He can’t help watching the boy. All night, he watches him. And he knows Liam is watching him. He doesn’t look his way, eyes never making contact, but he knows. It’s in the set lines of his shoulders, the barely detectable tug at the corner of that pretty little mouth. But there’s something else in his face, too, that Liam can’t quite place. Something hard etched in the boy’s face, in the jut of his jaw, accentuating those sharp cheekbones, and occasionally he purses those lovely lips into thin lines. Liam wants him. He wants that mouth on his hot skin. Fuck, he’s drunk.

The crowd slowly dies down, people stumbling home, having had a few too many. 

Finding themselves adequately intoxicated, Liam’s mates saunter off, dragging Liam with them, or trying to.

“‘One sec, wait for me outside.” He pulls on his jacket, tugging down the sleeves of his shirt, still watching the boy who is wiping down the now abandoned bar with a grey rag. He walks over, feeling oddly self-conscious, pulling up the collar of his jacket. He plucks his cigarettes from his pocket, placing one between his lips.

The boy glances up as Liam approaches.

“Sorry, mate, we’re closed,” he says unapologetically, already back to the task of cleaning the bar. 

“One more for the road?” Liam grins. He flashes a fifty-pound note, folded between two fingers. 

The boy’s eyes briefly glance at the cash, and then settle on Liam’s face, reading something Liam isn’t entirely sure of. 

“Come on, one for you too,” he says in a teasing, and hopefully persuasive, tone.

The boy raises his eyebrows infinitesimally, scoffing softly, and puts his focus back on the bar. Liam feels a sting and self-consciousness warms his skin, but he refuses to let the boy off the hook. He keeps a wide grin firmly planted on his face. He’s being fucking charming, alright? 

“C’mon, what do you say?” He eyes the boy, still holding out the cash. “You down for another drink?”

The boy rolls his eyes, but dumps the rag unceremoniously on the bar, setting down two small glasses instead. He fills them with more cheap whiskey. 

“Cheers,” he says, a trace of amusement on his face. He knocks back his shot and plucks the note from between Liam’s fingers, grinning. 

“Thanks for the shot,” he says wryly. He’s already walking away. “Safe journeys and all.”

He leaves Liam alone at the bar, his untouched whiskey still in front of him. Liam’s gaze follows the boy, not knowing if he’s annoyed or amused. The kid has no idea who he’s talking to, does he? Suddenly, it hits Liam-- the boy doesn’t know who he is. He genuinely has no idea that he’s being a bit of a tit to Liam fucking Payne. Oh, this is priceless. 

So he smiles at the boy, picks up his shot and knocks it back, his eyes never leaving his face. 

The boy throws the rag somewhere under the bar, and pulls out a broom from the side of the bar. Liam watches him sweep, a film of sweat forming on his forehead, red tinging his cheeks from the hot, stifling air that lingers in the pub. 

He watches the boy’s back, his worn t-shirt clinging to hot, slick skin. The thin fabric defining his protruding shoulder blades. He’s slim, but definitely in good shape. Liam really wants to fuck him.

Suddenly, the boy wheels around.

“The fuck you staring at?” His tone is harsh, his eyes sharp. Liam narrows his eyes ever so slightly.    
Yeah, he really doesn’t know who he’s talking to. It’s kind of refreshing, not having his ass kissed.

“You.” Liam grins.

The boy keeps his eyes on Liam, his face an unreadable mask. Then his mouth twists into a smirk, the corner of his mouth tugging. Liam smirks back in full. 

The boy then shakes his head, amused, and turns back to sweeping the floors.

Liam smiles. Then he turns around, and walks out of the pub, feeling rather pleased with himself.

The cool air licks his hot skin, instantly clearing his head a little, although he is fucking far from being sober. He looks around the empty street, his mates nowhere to be found. He pulls out his phone, glances at the message announcing they’ve pissed off to some party or other, insisting he joins them. Fuckers. 

He shoots a quick message to Les, texting the address. Instantly, he gets a reply. ‘ _ Picking up Zayn, be there in fifteen.’ _

Fuck. Fifteen fucking minutes. What the fuck is he supposed to do for fifteen fucking minutes? 

He hears a door open in the alley next to the pub, the hard wood slamming against the brick wall.

“See you later, mate. Say hello to your bird for me, yeah?” a clear voice calls, before the door falls shut. 

Liam strolls into the alley, watching the pretty boy buttoning up his denim jacket, fumbling around in his pockets, in search of something. Liam casually leans his back against the wall, his left foot set against the wall, pulling out his cigarettes, and lighting one with a flick of his zippo. 

The sounds attracts the boy’s attention, and Liam looks at him, tilting his head. He pushes himself off the wall, straightening his jacket, cigarette dangling from his lips. The boy is looking at him, clearly amused.

“Want one?” Liam offers, plucking his own cigarette from his lips and holding it out to the boy.

The boy approaches him with slow, deliberate steps. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He takes the cigarette from Liam, lifting it gently from his fingers, and up to his own mouth. 

“Thought you left,” he says, now smirking a little, eyes focusing on Liam’s. He sucks the smoke into his lungs, his cheeks hollowing, breathing it in with a hunger. 

Liam watches every second, watches the boy’s lips settle around the cigarette, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, sucking more smoke into his lungs, his chest expanding to accommodate the extra intake of air. The boy watches Liam watching him, his piercing eyes unyielding. Liam really fucking wants him. 

The boy finally lets his gaze fall to the ground, taking another drag. 

He looks back up at Liam, those clear blue eyes peering up through long black lashes. He pulls the cigarette from his lips, moistening them with a deliberate flick of his tongue, his lips pulling into a mischievous and fucking irresistible smirk. 

Fuck it. 

Abandoning all reason, Liam grabs the boy’s shoulders, knuckles scratching the fabric of his t-shirt, and pulls him in. His hungry mouth finds the boy’s, whose lips are open and inviting. He kisses him hard, roughly shoving him into the wall, his hands grabbing the boy’s hair, his neck, his waist. He grabs everywhere, hands roaming, as his mouth traces his lips, his jaw, his throat. The boy grabs Liam back, nails digging into skin, pulling Liam’s mouth onto his, finding his tongue with his own. He tastes of cigarettes and cheap whiskey. 

The boy now shoves Liam into the wall, pinning Liam’s arms to his sides –Liam allows it— while tracing his jaw, his throat with his mouth. His hot lips slide down his collarbone, his tongue flicking his skin, setting Liam’s skin on fucking fire. God, he’s so hard.

The boy releases his wrists, his hands sliding down his waist, fingers finding their way to the front of his pants. He unzips Liam’s trousers, pulling them down roughly, and drops to his knees, looking up at Liam, smirking. He feels hot breath on his skin, and wet, hot lips find their target— _ Oh _ . Holy fuck.

After Liam comes –which does not take long at all. Jesus, this kid is good– the boy comes back up, grinning an accomplished grin, before planting a teasing kiss on Liam’s lips.

Then he steps back, plucks a cigarette from his jacket and lights it—all in one swift motion.

“Fuck,” Liam breathes, “that was… Jesus.” He shudders, breathing a laugh, as the world comes back into focus. Liam breathes the cold air, willing his body to cool down, running a hand through his hair.

“Not even close, love,” the boy laughs, huffing out smoke. “But I’ve been called much worse.”

He stands there, one hand in his pocket, smoking his cigarette so casually, like he didn’t just fucking suck Liam’s dick. He flashes Liam a brilliant smile, which makes Liam actually laugh. Liam zips up his jeans—having finally gathered himself—and lights a cigarette of his own. 

“So what’s your name then?” Liam quirks an eyebrow, still smirking.

The boy pulls a hand from his jacket pocket --the other still holding his cigarette-- and extends it to Liam. 

“Tommo,” he says with a nod, as Liam takes his hand and presses a firm hand to it.

“Liam. Payne.” 

Liam half expects the boy to startle on hearing his name—most people do, for better or for worse. But the boy doesn’t so much as bat an eye-- simply nods instead. He already knew. 

He doesn’t look particularly impressed though. Again, it makes a nice change. 

Liam takes his number, punching it into his phone, when Les texts him— _ ’Here.’ _

“I’ll be in touch with you,” he says, already walking away, heading to the car that pulls up at the pub.

He turns back to the boy, who quirks his eyebrows in response, eyes narrowing slightly. He looks at Liam curiously. 

“I get bored easily,” Liam adds, and a mischievous grin spreads over the boy’s face. “And I think you might be the cure for that.”    
  


**

Louis steps out of the elevator and enters the gleaming halls, which strongly smell of wood polish. Liam observes him, watching his face closely. He can’t tell if Louis is impressed or disgusted, as his lets his eyes take in the vast hallway. Maybe a bit of both. He can hear his mother’s heels clacking in the dining room on the left.

“C’mon,” he says to Louis, nodding in the direction of his bedroom. At the sound of their steps, his mother steps into the hallway, an insincere smile already in place.

“Hello, darli-- Oh,” she says, her face falling, “it’s you. I thought you were Kahn. Do you know where—” She breaks off, only just noticing Louis. She frowns, wrinkling her nose, and looks at Liam, raising an eyebrow.

“Mum, this is Louis,” Liam says, face neutral, gesturing to Louis, who steps forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“Louis, meet Martha Payne.” Liam gestures to his mother, who is positively glaring at Louis, eyes falling on his battered denim jacket, torn jeans, and worn and filthy shoes. 

His mother’s glare could reduce people to ashes. Liam’s seen plenty of people withering under that stare. However, Louis is glaring right back at her, with equal intensity, head tilted to one side, a wide, insincere grin spreading across his face. 

“Hello, Martha,” Louis says informally, smirking, hands still in his pockets, absolutely no intention of shaking her hand. Not that she’s extended one. She wouldn’t touch Louis with a ten-foot pole, and her face shows every bit of the sentiment. 

“Hello,” she says coolly, lips furling, eyes shooting back to Liam. Then she turns on her heel, stalking back to the dining room. 

“Kahn and I won’t be here for dinner,” she announces from the dining room, not waiting for a reply. 

“I’ll have Leslie fetch something,” Liam replies to no one in particular, turning his attention back to Louis, who sort of snorts at the words but refrains from commenting. Liam gestures for him to follow, as he continues to his bedroom.

“So, your mum’s lovely,” Louis says as soon as the bedroom door shuts, voice dripping in sarcasm. Liam huffs out a laugh. “No, really—a really warm person, like. So welcoming, too.”

“She’s not that bad,” Liam says, his voice light, “she can be alright.”

“Wow, Payno, such high praise,” Louis grins, shaking his head.

“Well, what about your mum? She a warm and fuzzy person then?” Liam asks, half mockingly, half genuinely interested in the pretty boy before him, who has draped himself lavishly on Liam’s bed without a second thought. 

Something flashes in Louis’ eyes, for just a second—too fast for Liam to read—before he hops off the bed. He walks straight up to Liam, stopping a mere inch away, his nose almost touching Liam’s. He looks up into Liam’s face, blinking up through long black eyelashes, smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Did you bring me here to talk about our parents?” Louis says with an amused voice, smirk turning to grin. His breath is hot on Liam’s skin, and he feels his heart thundering, but keeps his face composed. 

“No,” he breathes, leaning forward into Louis infinitesimally. Louis notices—of course. Good. That means Liam’s got his attention. “Actually, I have a challenge for you.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head a bit, intrigue in his eyes. 

“That so? What would that be then?” Louis says, eyes locked with Liam’s, handing feeling their way to Liam’s jeans, unbuttoning the top button—He’s good. 

Perfect. Liam needs him to be good. Better than, actually.

“I need you to seduce someone,” Liam says bluntly. Louis’ hands freeze, his eyes still on Liam’s, narrowing slightly. “Someone not me,” Liam continues, placing his hands on Louis’, slowly pulling them away from his jeans. “And I need you to get caught.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Louis takes a step back, his eyebrows pulling into an incredulous frown. So maybe Liam’s offended him. Well, he hasn’t stalked off yet.

“I need you to have sex with someone,” Liam states matter-of-factly. 

He’d been thinking about ways to take down Connor Jenkins for a good while now. The little shit’s become just a little too smug for Liam’s liking, and this is just perfect, as Connor is a particularly closeted individual. 

“The kid has been a thorn in my side for fucking years, and I want him taken down a notch. Which is where you come in. See, his parents don’t know he’s gay,” Liam says, smirking. “And it would be really unfortunate if they found out, especially since he just got engaged. It would just ruin their perfect little plans.”

“And what the fuck does that have to do with me?”

“He won’t just fuck anyone, not with what’s at risk. He’s careful. I need someone to change his mind. Someone he won’t be able to refuse,” Liam says with a sly grin. “Someone like you.”

“Flatter me all you want, love,” Louis rolls his eyes. But they’re no longer cold, and Liam swears there’s a hint of amusement in his voice, as he continues. 

“But I’m not hearing any reason why I should whore myself out to some preppy little fuck, just ‘cause he rubbed you the wrong way.” At that, Louis smirks, eyes flashing brightly. 

“Or is that it?” Louis laughs mockingly. “He hasn’t rubbed you, in any way, and you’re feeling rejected.” 

Liam feels his skin flush. He’s rarely mocked, and never to his face. He doesn’t like it, and it must show, because Louis takes one look at his face before barking out a laugh. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Look, Payno,” he says after a moment, his voice little more serious, but he’s clearly still amused. “I feel your pain, mate, I really do, but I don’t see why I’d wanna go out of my way to fuck some lad I’ve never even fucking heard of, just ‘cause he irks you.”

“Who says you’ve never heard of him?” Liam’s smirk is now fully back in place. This is what he was waiting for—Louis hates jocks, hates them with fiery passion, and there’s very little that he loves as much as taking them down. And this is one of the biggest jocks in town.

Louis quirks an eyebrow, eyes curious. 

“Besides,” Liam walks over to where he tossed his jacket on a wardrobe, plucking out his cigarettes. “I thought taking down a spoiled little rich kid would be right up your alley, Tomlinson. But perhaps I misjudged you,” Liam drawls, his voice bored. 

He lights a cigarette, looking at Louis through the exhaled smoke. Louis is practically glaring at Liam, eyes narrowed, impatient. Liam almost laughs. He’s never met anyone who has such a low tolerance for people, or at least not anyone who’s so poor at hiding it.

“I didn’t think you were the type to shy away from a challenge,” Liam continues, eyes trained of Louis’. “But I guess I can find someone else to entertain me. Like I said, Tommo, I get bored easily.”

Louis glares at Liam with a ferocity that suggests he’s about to either punch him or fuck him—Liam’s kind of hoping for the latter. There’s something a little menacing in his eyes. 

Suddenly Louis snorts out a laugh, blue eyes suddenly clear and amused. 

“Alright, love, I’m listening,” he says, walking over to Liam, plucking the cigarette from his lips, and placing it between his own. 

“Tell me who it is,” Louis drags on the cigarette. “And I’ll consider if it’s worth my fucking time,” he slowly blows smoke in Liam’s face.

“Excellent,” Liam beams, a wide grin spreading across his face. He knew he could count on Louis. “His name is Connor Jenkins.”

Louis chokes on the smoke he was in the process of inhaling, eyes wide. 

“Jesus, Liam,” he says, coughing up a lung. “You fucking know how to pick ‘em, don’t you? His family owns half the fucking city, love.”

“So?” Liam shrugs, unimpressed. “My family own the other half, and then some. Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick.”

Louis barks out a laugh. “True,” he concedes. 

He seems to be considering the target, quietly working out the probabilities, slowly nodding, a crooked grin spreading across his face. 

“Alright,” he says, his eyes finding Liam’s face. “I accept your challenge.”

Liam looks at Louis, at his blue eyes, now glinting with amusement and anticipation. At his beautiful mouth, twisted into an impossibly charming grin, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Jenkins hasn’t got a fucking chance.

“Good,” Liam breathes softly, stepping close to Louis, gentle fingers taking the cigarette from Louis’ mouth, whose lips remain parted. Liam lightly strokes Louis’ bottom lip with his thumb, the skin soft and warm to his touch. Liam bites the inside of his lip, locking eyes with Louis’, which are bright and wanting. 

“Good,” Liam says again, “we’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I.”

 

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for taking the time to read this little experiment.  
> Feel free to give feedback. :)


	3. The Final Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam proposes a final game. The target: Harry Styles

 

  * **The Final Game**



 

 

They had played many games since then. Liam would pick a target, and he would watch Louis take them apart. Like an animal tracking its prey; Louis would stalk them, get to know them, lure them in, and then tear them apart, piece by piece. For him. For Liam. Because he asked him to.

The rush that Liam gets, knowing what Louis would do—how far he is willing to go—for him, is indescribable. So Liam keeps asking him. And Louis obliges, every single time. Because he wants Liam, wants what Liam has to offer, almost as much as Liam wants him.

Soon, Liam reminds himself. Soon, he will have Louis. 

Right now, there’s work to do.   
  


**

  
Liam hears the elevator door ding, followed by shuffling footsteps—Louis. Liam hops off the bed and walks to his bedroom door, where he waits.

He’s leaning against the doorpost when his mother spots him. 

“We’ll be back tonight, darling,” she says without looking at him. 

“Alright, mum.” He really couldn’t care less. “Will you be back for dinner, or should I have someone fetch something?” 

“Best do,” his mother replies, as she picks up her purse. “We’ll let you know if we dine somewhere local.” She grimaces at the last word. Khan sometimes makes her ‘mingle with the people’. Liam tries not to laugh at her clear disgust at the concept.

It’s then that Louis comes barging around the corner, adding to her very obvious distaste. Louis smirks at her.

“Hello, Martha,” he greets happily. Liam laughs at Louis’ exaggerated, insincere smile, rubbing his face to hide the sound. For good measure, Louis stuffs his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, which makes Liam’s laugh that much harder to hide. He knows Martha really fucking hates that thing. Her lip visibly curls and her nose twitches as she deliberately moves around Louis is a wide circle. 

“Tomlinson,” she grits, as she shoots Liam a pointed, disapproving look. 

Louis catches it and laughs out loud—throwing his head back for dramatic effect—as she walks out of the hallway. As soon as she’s out of sight, Louis drops the act. He meets Liam’s eye, who laughs, shaking his head at Louis. Liam really likes Louis. Louis doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not.

“Tomlinson,” Liam echoes, smirking at Louis. 

Louis’ eyes sweep over Liam. He’s wearing a white polo, torn jeans—he thinks Louis might like them?— and trainers. And his watch, of course. It’s his favorite thing he owns—a gift from his dad. He turns and goes into his bedroom. Louis follows.

“You called?” Louis blinks up at him, eyes bright, his voice clear like crystal. He cocks his head to one side, making his cheekbones cut through the light. The little shit knows exactly what he’s doing to Liam. And it works. To a certain extent—Liam does have self-control, thank you. So instead of doing what he really wants to do, he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Your hair,” Liam says, taking deliberate steps towards Louis, hands still firmly in his pockets. Louis’ eyes flash briefly, just for a second, and then it’s gone. And Liam knows Louis wants him too. Wants him, because he can’t have him. Not since that first night. 

“You look like a street urchin.” Liam removes a hand from his pocket, reaching for Louis’ perfectly styles hair—he has an excellent head of hair. 

Louis smacks Liam’s hand away— _ Ouch _ . What the fuck? Liam inspects his hand, still a little stung that Louis actually smacked it. A little annoyed, too. 

“The fuck is that? A  _ street urchin _ ?” Louis’ tone is mocking. Liam doesn’t like it.

“A tart,” he clips, still annoyed.

“Ah,” Louis nods, clearly amused by having annoyed Liam. Great—he’s in one of those moods.

“Well,” Louis says brightly, “Never said I wasn’t one.”

Liam’s not crazy about Louis when he’s got one of his moods. Louis tends to take the piss out of Liam, tends to push Liam to see if he can piss him off—Louis knows Liam’s got some anger management issues, and he loves pushing the limits to see how far he can go. And Liam is not in the fucking mood. But he can’t afford to get pissy with Louis today—he needs him to deal with his little problem.

“So,” Liam takes a breath, pushing down his irritation at Louis. He walks away from Louis, creating some space between them. 

“I called you here for a reason, Louis.” He drops into one of the more comfortable chairs. Best to get this over with, if Louis’ in a mood.

“Figured.” Louis sounds impatient. Good—that makes two of them.

Louis is walking around the room, randomly picking up and putting down items after seemingly inspecting them—what he’s inspecting them for Liam doesn’t know. Louis is tense. Liam sees it in his face, the way he juts his jaw, the tight lines in his face. He shoulders are strung tight, like the wire on a bow. Maybe he just needs to blow off some steam—Liam has just the thing for him.

“Time to play,” he announces, grinning at Louis.

“Ah,” Louis sounds unimpressed—bored, really. Liam knows Louis’ been growing tired of their game for a while now. He knows it, but Louis is just so good at it. And it’s so much fun for Liam to watch—to see these young, naïve boys being won over this handsome, intangible boy. To see them fall, hopelessly, for a boy they’ll never have. Because he’ll never be theirs.  _ Because he’s Liam’s _ —Liam shuts down the thought, afraid to even think it—afraid Louis might see it in his face.

“Who is it this time then?” Louis sighs, turning over a Zippo between his fingers.

“He’s new in town.” That seems to pique his interest.

“How new?” Louis glances at Liam, quirking an eyebrow.

“Just moved before the school year started.”

“Your age?”

“Yep.” Liam pops the ‘p’, because he knows it bugs Louis. He enjoys the small flicker of irritation on Louis’ face. Louis doesn’t comment on it, though. Instead, he just nods slowly and walks over to chair opposite Liam. He perches on the edge, ensuring he touches the absolute bare minimum—like he wants nothing to do with it.

“What’s the motive?” he asks, lacing his fingers as he rests his elbows atop his knees. 

His blue eyes glint as he pins Liam with a stare. Liam can’t help but stare back. It’s like looking into the ocean—never-ending blue depths, quiet on surface, but who knows what’s happening below. It unsettles Liam as much as it intrigues him. 

Louis slowly slides his tongue over his lower lip, and bites the corner of his lip, still keeping his eyes trained on Liam’s face. Liam feels his pulse react.  _ Soon. _

“Why’s he a target?” Louis smirks knowingly. 

“Because he’s charming,” the words are more cutting than Liam had intended. He struggles to push down the frustration—the anger raising its ugly head at the topic.

“We’re going after him because he’s charming,” Louis deadpans.

“He’s just gotten here and he’s already everybody’s favorite pet, everybody knows his name, he’s just been appointed as the Vice President of choir—I don’t need a Vice President, thank you—and he’s gotten the highest mark in two of our courses. Higher than me, both times.” Fel had informed him of that little fact just before Louis got here. “By  _ one _ point.”

Liam’s muscles tense at the frustration. He clenches his jaw in an attempt to keep his face neutral. Louis sees it, though. And the fucker is delighted—he’s actually smirking. Liam tries to clamp down on the anger that’s rising up, as he continues. Clearly, Louis doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.

“The teachers eat him up,” he grits. “Everybody fucking raves about him, positively loves him, and there’s talk that he’s going to join the footie team. People think he’ll want to be captain.” Okay, so that last part isn’t technically true. But Louis fucking despises jocks. Especially, privileged ones. “Lars overheard him boasting about how he won’t even have to try-out for the team—they’ll just appoint him the position.”  

Louis’ smirk has grown considerably in the last thirty seconds. It’s seriously pissing Liam off.

“His marks are currently the highest in the entire school. He’s got everybody wrapped around his finger. It’s only been two months of term, Louis, and he’s already pissing me the fuck off.”

Louis laughs, unabashed, and leans back into the chair—oh, look who’s finally made himself comfortable—as he slaps his knees.

“So little boy Liam’s feeling threatened then?” Louis’ voice is cutting, openly mocking Liam. “The Prince is afraid to suffer an uprising in his kingdom.” 

Liam considers punching Louis in the fucking face, wiping the cocky, mocking smile from it, and splintering his pretty, little nose. He’s sure Louis can see the anger in his face, but he only laughs harder.

“You’ve got yourself competition, Payne,” he barks. “Golden Boy Number Two is coming right ‘round the bend. And he’s coming for you.” Louis jabs a finger at Liam on the last word. Liam is dangerously close to breaking it.

“Deal with him,” he manages to grit out, his jaws tightly clenched. 

“Why?” Louis asks, smirking. Liam curses him under his breath. Louis has no idea how far he’s pushing Liam. “This might be fun for me to just watch you struggle a bit. Especially since you’re no longer the number one choice for you little university, are ya?”

Louis’ words stab like knives, and Liam’s vision is starting to blur red at the edges. Louis knows what this means to Liam—his reputation, his  _ future _ .

“It’s not a little university.” It takes all of Liam’s self-control to breathe, just breathe, to keep his anger at bay. He digs his fingers into the armrest. “It’s the  _ only _ university. They only accept  _ one _ from our school.”

“And New Boy’s going to get it.” He’s going to kill Louis, Liam is sure of it. 

“No, he isn’t. And you’re going to make certain of it.” Liam’s rarely had to exercise such self-control as when he’s around Louis. Especially when Louis seems fucking set on drawing him out.

“And just how am I going to do that?” Louis drawls, leaning his elbows on his knees once more. Liam dares to take a breath. Maybe he’s done pushing Liam to his fucking limit.

“Usually you just want me to fuck someone and get them caught up in a scandal or summat. Just ruffle some feathers or piss someone off. Which, okay, great. Easy, that. But just how the fuck am I supposed to stop this bloke from being perfect?”

“Get him expelled. Distract him. Fuck up his reputation—whatever you must.” Liam breathes an internal sigh of relief. Thank fuck. 

Louis snorts, rolling his eyes. “What, you want me to proper fuck him over? Get caught fucking him in the chancellor’s office?”

“You’ve done it before,” Liam reminds him. It was fucking glorious. “It’s nothing new.”

Louis seems to be considering it. “Do you know anything about him?” 

Jesus Christ, thank the fucking gods. Why did the fucker have to make it so goddamn hard on Liam? Louis fucking Tomlinson—Liam hates him as much as he loves him sometimes.

“His name is Harry Styles. He’s from a well-to-do family, from what I’ve heard. Lives with his mum and sister. Don’t know about a father. Just moved here from a small, shitty town I don’t recall the name of. I’m not quite sure who his friends are, yet.” That’s only a matter of time. He’s only been looking into Styles for a day, after all. “He’s not dating anyone—he’s a virgin, by the way—”

“No way,” Louis laughs, incredulous. “A virgin? He’s what—seventeen?”

“Around there, yeah.” And Liam can’t help being amused by Louis’ wide eyes and raised eyebrows. He looks dumbstruck. “He’s a good boy, our Harry Styles. Clean reputation. Won’t date—focuses on his studies and all that.”

“Which is why he’s better than you.” Louis smirks.  _ Prick. _ Liam’s inferior to no one, excuse you very much.

“Ruin him, Louis—Destroy him any way you see fit. I’m giving you a certain amount of leeway here.”

“Why?”

“Because you never disappoint.”

Louis is considering it. He could do it, no problem. But he’s been growing tired of their games. Liam might have to offer a little extra incentive. He might have to offer something to make it Louis’ worth while.

“If you successfully manage this,” Liam offers, piquing Louis’ interest, “You’ll get a prize.”

“A prize?” Louis sits up, his attention fully back on Liam. 

See, after that first night in the alley, Liam’s never let Louis that close again. And Liam knows that gnaws at Louis, because he wants him. Just like Liam wants Louis.

“If you succeed—properly—,” Liam stands up and leans over Louis, placing his hands on the armrests on either side of him. His eyes lock with Louis’ as he lifts his hand to Louis’ face, brushing a finger along the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ll get me.”

Liam traces his finger along Louis’ face, his thumb resting on his chin, before Louis places his own hand over Liam’s, digging his fingernails into Liam’s hand ever so slightly.

“You’re serious?” Louis’ voice is smooth as silk as he stands up, forcing Liam back until they’re stood up, his nose almost brushing Liam’s. 

He can feel Louis’ hot breath on his face, and he feels the urgent desire to find the source of it with his mouth.  _ Soon. _

“I’m serious,” he breathes, and he presses his lips to Louis’ for a mere second, but it’s enough to make Louis’ body react. Liam can see it—he can see the want in Louis’ eyes. 

“Ruin him, Louis — Ruin him, and you get me.”

Louis nods, his eyes still on Liam’s face, on his mouth. Then, once more, his eyes finds Liam’s. 

“Alright, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for taking the time to read this.  
> Any feedback is welcome. :)


	4. Zayn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When reading Gods & Monsters, I was really interested in the relationship between Liam and Zayn.  
> So here's a little background on Liam's "one redeeming quality". :)

Liam opens the door and peers into Zayn’s room, which is dark and smoky and smells strongly of weed. The curtains are drawn, some scented candles the only source of light. For someone who doesn’t like the dark, Zayn spends a lot of fucking time surrounding himself by it.

“Zayn, come on, mate,” Liam sighs, stepping into the room. “This is downright depressing.”

He walks over to the delicate boy sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, looking over piles of papers strewn over the floor. He stops right behind Zayn and ruffles the thick, black mop of hair. Zayn looks up at him, a goofy smile on his face—Zayn is very stoned.

“I think it’s peaceful.” His voice is calm and quiet, serene.

“How can you even see what you’re looking at, though?” Liam squints down at the pages in Zayn’s lap.

“I can always see what I’m looking at,” Zayn replies solemnly. “We all can. It’s seeing what you’re not looking at that’s hard, Liam. Seeing what’s not there, seeing the unseen.” Definitely very, very stoned.

“Riight.” Liam shakes his head, untangling his fingers from Zayn’s soft locks. He walks over to the tall, arched windows, trying not to step on any of the scattered pages.

“Still, mate, you should try breathing some oxygen once in a while,” Liam pulls back the curtains, bathing the room in sunlight. Zayn blinks harshly at the sudden brightness.

“You should come out some time, yeah?” Liam almost laughs at Zayn’s pouting face. “Spend some time in the real world?”

Liam really worries about Zayn. He spends so much time alone.

“Don’t always like the real world,” Zayn says softly, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. “Sometimes I just need to not be around people. They’re not very nice.”

Liam sighs. Zayn’s not wrong, of course. Especially in their social circles, people aren’t exactly warm or caring, and Zayn is both those things. He’s so sensitive.

“I know,” Liam sighs, squatting down next to Zayn, “but still, you need to show your face once in a while, mate. If only to appease the parents.”

Zayn grimaces, eyes focused on the floor. “Hmm, suppose so,” he mumbles.

“Besides,” Liam says, “anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know—I’ll take care of them. You know that, right?” He gently nudges Zayn’s shoulder with his elbow. Zayn looks up Liam, eyes soft, a smile forming on his lips. He really is beautiful.

“Yeah, I know, Liam. You always have my back.”

“Always,” Liam says, a resolute nod at Zayn, whose eyes slide back to the papers on the floor.

It’s then that Liam recognizes the images on the pages.

“Where’d you dig these up then?” Liam picks up one of the pencil sketches. They’re all drawings of buildings, gardens, parks. Designed meticulously, with intricate little details.

Zayn’s smile grows wider. “I always keep ‘em,” he says, looking fondly up at Liam. “I take ‘em out once in a while, and just look at ‘em.” His voice is warm and smooth, like honey. His dark eyes are big and they sparkle a little as they fix on Liam’s.

“You’re really good, Li,” he says with a warm smile. “They deserve to be seen.”

Liam feels his skin flush, heat creeping up his neck and face. He never really knows what to say when Zayn says stuff like that, so he just shrugs.

He never shows his drawings to anyone, not since his dad. When he got into drawing as a kid, his dad was the one who kind of encouraged him, to keep going, to get better. His mother never saw the value in it—it’s not a very practical skill, is it? Better off spending the time on maths or economics. His dad would shrug at her remarks.   
“It’s jealousy, Liam,” he’d say, winking at Liam. “Your mother doesn’t have an artistic bone in her body. Art is for the soul.”   
Well, that explained why his mother didn’t value it then. Liam’s not entirely sure his mother has a soul. His father didn’t seem to think so, anyway, ‘cause he left not long after, didn’t he?

But Liam still enjoys drawing, and he guesses that, over the years, maybe he got pretty decent at it?  
Zayn had waltzed into Liam’s bedroom one day –he never fucking knocks– as Liam was finishing one, and Zayn had asked if he could have it. Liam figured that maybe Zayn was trying to get out of some art project —though Zayn really doesn’t need help in that department— but Zayn had asked for them since then. Usually if he saw Liam drawing, Zayn would ask if he could have it. Liam had never really thought about what he did with them.

He looks around at all the drawings that Zayn’s apparently collected over the years, and he feels a rush of warmth for Zayn. He hands the drawing to Zayn and can’t resist the urge to ruffle his hair some more.

Zayn smiles wide at him, his gold eyes blinking up slowly. “I love you too, Liam.”

Liam doesn’t do _emotions_ very well. If things get too fucking warm and fuzzy, it makes his skin itch. Like right now. And Zayn does this kind of stuff on purpose, Liam is sure of it.

Zayn doesn’t expect a reply, though—he knows Liam too well. He just turns his gaze back to the floor and starts gathering the papers with careful hands.

Liam watches as Zayn gently stacks the papers, sliding them into neat, black folders. Zayn is a gentle creature. Liam sometimes wonders where he got that from—clearly not from his father. Not that Malik is a bad person, per se. Just a shitty father. Maybe Zayn got the good bits from his mother.

Liam’s not sure what happened with Zayn’s mum. They never really discussed it. Zayn doesn’t like to dwell on the past—“‘ _s no point, is there? ‘s not gonna change anything”_ — and he repeatedly likes to remind Liam of this. Like when Liam is plotting his revenge on someone.

Zayn’s not as unaffected by -whatever it is that happened- as he likes to pretend, though. Liam remembers when Zayn turned sixteen; his mum had sent him a birthday card. Liam, to this day, doesn’t know what it said, or why it was a big deal, but it had messed Zayn up pretty good. He’d disappeared from the party, and Liam had found him in his bedroom, alone and in tears. The memory still makes Liam ache.

They’d ended up getting seriously smashed together, and, in an attempt to cheer Zayn up, Liam had asked him to draw something together. Zayn had remarked that they’d need a bigger canvas—so they’d found one. Admittedly, Martha had been less than amused to find Zayn’s bedroom wall spray-painted. It’s one of Liam’s favorite memories by far. Malik had made them repaint the wall and grounded Zayn for two weeks, which was hardly a punishment for Zayn, who spent most of his time in his room anyway. During his ‘house arrest’, Liam dropped by every day, restocking his weed and cigarettes. So, all in all, they gave Zayn a two week break for his birthday. It was probably the best gift they could’ve got him, and they didn’t even do it on purpose. Liam smiles wryly at the thought.

Liam imagines Zayn looks like his mum, too. He doesn’t really look like Malik. Maybe that’s why his father avoids him. Liam imagines it’s one of the reasons his mother doesn’t like looking at Liam—because Liam does look like his father. Then again, his mother had never really taken to him, even before his dad left.

Liam can’t recall his mother ever being—well, a mum. Not in the way people seem to think a mum should behave anyway. She was very consistent. She had clear rules and he always knew exactly what to expect. But Liam can’t remember the last time she hugged him, in a sincere way—one that wasn’t for show. Physical contact in his family is generally limited to handshakes. Any display of feigned intimacy reserved for pictures—an arm wrapped around his shoulders on a graduation portrait or a birthday photo.

Of course, he hasn’t actually celebrated his birthday with his parents in years. _Fuck, imagine that_. But the family always throws a party, though. A big fucking gala or some nonsense, where his mother and Malik briefly make an appearance—with lots of “m’boys” and fake smiles—before they disappear to network with somebody important. Liam does the same for a few hours, nodding politely as people with insincere faces kiss his ass. He’s not stupid—he knows the connections are important. And part of him enjoys the fact that people want to be around him, even if it’s only because of his family name.

Liam has a couple of real mates, though—ones who don’t give a shit about who his family is. They’re a good crowd, all laughs and utter bullshit, and always ready to distract him when he needs it. But, without a doubt, Zayn’s his best mate. Liam considers him a brother, even though their parents only got together a couple years back. The marriage was a big deal, the wedding extravagant. Martha and Malik are a fucking power couple, a force to be reckoned with. They’re well-respected in social circles, always at the top of the guest lists. Liam has benefited from it for sure, he can’t deny that. The best part of the union, though, was Zayn.

For some reason beyond Liam’s comprehension, Zayn took a liking to him, utterly unimpressed by Liam’s initial cold countenance and piss-poor attitude. Zayn just strolled past Liam’s harsh remarks, entirely unaffected—which is actually quite funny because Zayn’s a sensitive soul. But he just waltzed through Liam’s life, bursting into his room uninvited, and disturbing Liam’s peace and quiet.

See, every once in a while, Liam needs a break from the rat race and the socialites—from the parties and the smiles and the shoulder claps. Even from his mates. He doesn’t like anyone around him then, so he retreats to the dark quiet of his bedroom, smoking and blowing and sipping expensive whiskeys until he starts to feel human again.

Zayn completely disregards Liam’s need for solitude, barging in and talking his fucking ears off. It used to annoy the shit out of him. At some point, though, he got used to Zayn. Now, Liam really loves him ‘cause Zayn is… well, Zayn.

 

**   
  
Zayn’s steps are graceful and deliberate. It’s like he moves in slow-motion, like a giraffe. Liam’s come to know the sound of Zayn’s languid, slow steps as he hovers through the apartment.

So when Zayn comes floating into his rooms, without so much as knocking, Liam doesn’t startle. He just glances up as Zayn hops up on the bed, plucking the cigarette from Liam’s lips and places it between his own. He inhales the smoke with a slight smile, folding his slim legs under his slight frame. He vaguely reminds Liam of an insect, with his stick legs tucked under his body at harsh angles.

“You could just ask for one, you know?” Liam rolls his eyes but grins at Zayn, already lighting a new cigarette for himself.

“Didn’t want a new one,” Zayn’s soft voice drawls. “I like this one, ‘cause it’s yours.”

Zayn can be really fucking weird, and Liam tells him as much.

Zayn just chuckles softly. “But you love me for it, Liam.”

And he does.

“You pullin’ a sickie then?”

“Nah, don’t have class till later.” Liam checks his watch. He’s got a few more hours. He’d got up early. Tommo had briefed him on his progress with Styles—he’s been watching Styles for a couple days, and plans to make first contact today—and then he’d gone to the gym.

“You coming to class today?”

“Not today,” Zayn says earnestly—like it’s the exception—“I need to meditate on my future, maybe find out what the universe has in store for me.”

Liam shakes his head. “You know, graduating might help with that. But you’d have to actually, like, show up and make an effort at some point.”

Zayn just shrugs, exhaling more smoke. “What society has planned for me, and what the universe has planned, are two different things, Liam,” he sighs heavily. “And I’m not interested in what society wants.”

Liam kind of admires Zayn for the way he is totally unaffected by the pressure of others. Liam wonders what it must be like to be immune to the stress of having to meet expectations.

Liam’s known what’s expected of him for as long as he can remember. He’s never doubted that he would have to live up to those expectations—it’s his only option. He thinks about Brenton—and Styles—and he really fucking hopes Louis is making progress. He’s counting on him.

“You’re worrying again, Liam,” Zayn sighs, lifting his hand up to Liam’s face. He glides thin fingers over Liam’s face, gently smoothing over the frown on Liam’s forehead. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount,” Liam counters, resisting the urge to bat away Zayn’s hand—he knows it would hurt Zayn’s feelings. “I care about my future, Zayn. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“That school isn’t the only future, Li,” Zayn says softly, dropping his hand from Liam’s face.

“It’s the only one that matters,” Liam interjects, a tad impatient—they’ve talked about this. “And I’m not going to let anyone jeopardize that.”

He can practically feel Zayn’s frown, so he focuses intently on not meeting Zayn’s eyes.

Liam’s phone buzzes then, and he pulls the screen up to his face—Tommo. _‘Found him.’_

Liam smiles at the screen, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders, as he replies. _‘Perfect.’_

He glances up to look at Zayn, who is watching him with careful eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for taking the time to read this little experiment.  
> Please, bear with me as I figure out where I'm taking this.


	5. Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Styles is still top of the class, and still loved by everyone.  
> And Louis is not as good as he thinks.  
> And Liam is worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me a while to post anything new, but I'm working on it.  
> The next chapter will follow a lot sooner.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it, and, as always, please feel free to comment.  
> Thank you for the support so far.

  1. **Troubles**



“It’s an impossible task,” Louis blurts as soon as Liam opens the door.

Liam leans against the doorframe as he blinks at Louis. He almost laughs at Louis’ face, which is contorted with frustration. His arms are tightly folded over his stomach.

“Surely, you’re not talking about Styles?” Liam suppresses a smirk.

“I am most definitely talking about Styles,” Louis snaps, letting his arms fall to his sides. “You do realize you sent me to chase after a bunny rabbit, right? A fucking socially awkward, docile as shit, weird, impossible-to-read goddamn bunny rabbit?”

Louis is so heated, Liam’s having a hard times not laughing. That would probably piss off Louis even more, though—Liam briefly entertains the thought, but decides it wouldn’t be worth it.

“He doesn’t like me. He wants fuck all to do with me,” Louis grits.

Liam can’t help it—Louis had given him so much shit, mocking Liam for supposedly having met his match in Styles—he appreciates the irony of Louis now apparently having met his, too. Liam might have enjoyed this newfound respect for Styles, if it weren’t for the fact that he needs Louis to succeed. He realizes that Louis is still ranting.

“...I can’t exactly say that I even understand why I’m going after the thing in the first place.”

Liam snorts a laugh. “Thing?”

“Thing.” Louis can be so snarky. It’s absolutely hilarious. Liam rarely sees Louis this worked up, especially about a chase, and it’s just too good.

“So, Styles isn’t taking the bait,” he teases, watching Louis’ body tense. “Lost our touch then, have we?”

Louis is positively glaring. “Piss off.”

He shoves roughly past Liam and stalks over to the bed, where he sprawls out, rubbing his temples. He might actually be worried. _Well, shit._ Louis can’t fail, not this time. There’s too much at stake here.

“Don’t disappoint me, Louis,” Liam says. It’s almost a plea, but sounds like a warning. “This one’s important, extremely important.” He looks at Louis, who’s still lying on the bed with his eyes pressed closed, his eyebrows pulled tightly together. It’s a little unsettling to watch—Louis is usually so confident.

“He may not have taken to you on the first go,” Liam starts. “But he sure as hell took to that Latin exam we just had.” Styles had nailed it. Again. It’s getting really annoying—doesn’t he ever fail at anything?

“Furthermore, my sources tell me that he’s been nominated for the Student Board next term. As President.” Lars had called him this morning, and just thinking about it sets Liam’s teeth on edge.

“Which, we both know, is a coveted position. Coveted by me,” Liam grits. He can feel his shoulders tense, his fists balled up at his sides, as he tries to push down the rising heat.

“And I don’t even care to mention what that old cow Alice Horan said about letting him give a fucking speech at the school’s charity gala next month.”

Like the news about Styles being nominated for Student Board President wasn’t fucking bad enough, Alice Horan had come up to him, not ten minutes later, happily chatting about the oh-so-charming and isn’t-he-just-lovely Harry Styles. The worst fucking timing, that woman has. And completely oblivious too. Liam had had to do everything in his power not to tell her to piss off. And then when she’d rambled on about Styles’ speech at the school’s charity gala—the gala _his_ family organizes, need he remind her—he’d grinned and bear it, vowing to get back at her for this later. And Liam Payne doesn’t forget.

Liam looks up to see Louis smirking at him. Of course he finds this entertaining. Anything that pisses Liam off, Louis is bound to find hilarious.

“I’m sure I don’t need to explain why this is of the utmost importance, Tommo.”

“Oh, _‘utmost,’_ oh-ho,” Louis mocks. Liam ignores it, knows Louis’ only trying to rile him up, because he’s frustrated and he needs to take it out on someone.

“Failure is not an option,” he reminds him. Liam repeats this to himself more times than he can count. Because it’s not. Especially now.

Louis doesn’t respond, though. He only buries his head deeper in Liam’s pillows, pushing the palms of his hands hard into his eyes. He looks… Well, if Liam didn’t know any better, he’d say Louis looks nervous. It makes Liam uneasy. His skin crawls and his body feels jittery. Maybe he should go to the gym—burn some of this nervous energy, get it out of his system.

He grabs his bag, and starts throwing in workout gear, when Louis asks from the bed, “Is your mum home? I like ruffling her feathers; it’s an easy task—all I have to do is say hi and ask about her day.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

Liam secretly really enjoys watching Louis set off his mother. It’s so easy for him to get under her skin, and Louis’ perfected it to an art form. Liam smiles to himself at the thought—it’s such a stark contrast from the self-absorbed mess that is currently wallowing on his bed. Liam sighs at the sight.

“Tommo,” Liam coaxes, and Louis lifts a hand from his face to look at Liam. “It’s only the first day. Try again tomorrow. Just do what you normally do, alright?” Maybe Louis needs some genuine encouragement. Liam feels awkward, though, too vulnerable. This isn’t what their relationship is. So he continues stuffing clothes into his bag, as he adds, “just start sucking his dick. That always works.”

Louis snorts at that, and Liam breathes again.

“Maybe.” Louis huffs and throws an arm over his face. He lies like that for a minute.

“It is a pretty foolproof tactic, though, innit?” Louis suddenly says. “It certainly worked on you.”

Liam almost drops his t-shirt, heat crawling up the back of his neck. He stuffs the shirt in the bag and turns to Louis, who is peeking at him from under his arm, smirking. _There he is._

“Yes, it did.” Liam hold Louis’ stare for a moment, before letting his eyes slide over Louis’ body, the way he’s draped on his bed, on his sheets. He wants to wreck this boy.

“And it will work again,” he adds. Whether he’s referring to himself or to Styles, he doesn’t know, and he can see the question—the want—reflected in Louis’ eyes.

_Soon. So, so soon_.

“Don’t worry, Tommo,” Liam says, his voice much calmer than he feels, and he picks up the shorts he’d apparently dropped earlier. “You’ve got this. You always succeed. So succeed with him so I can get my scholarship and the world will make sense again. Alright?”

_“Succeed, so you can have me,”_ is what he doesn’t say.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Louis sighs. “Where you off to then?” he asks, as Liam stuffs more clothes into the already overfilled bag.

“Gym.” He really needs to burn off some of this energy, get rid of some of the stress in his body.

“So manly,” Louis snorts. Liam turns to glare at him. Like at least half of Liam’s fucking frustration isn’t caused by him. _Jesus_. Louis must see some that sentiment, though, because he looks at Liam’s face and barks out a laugh.

“Is Brother Dearest home?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah, he’s in his room. As always.” Zayn spends too much time alone in his room. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign permanently stuck on his door. It worries him.

“Is he stoned?”

“Probably.” Another thing that worries him. Don’t get him wrong, Liam likes drugs—who the hell doesn’t?—but Zayn spends more time intoxicated than not.

“I asked him to come to the gym, but he said that he just wants to ‘ _enjoy the silence and think about things’_ \--He’s so fucking weird,” he adds, because the topic feels heavy. “He needs friends.”

Louis laughs. “He’s got friends, Payno. We’re his friends.”

Are they, though? Pretty shit friends, if you ask Liam. He doesn’t really want to think about it right now, though. And he can’t. Not with everything else going on. But he can't help the nagging feeling that Zayn is slipping. And that's something he just can't--

“I’ll be back,” he says, voice carefully neutral. “Gonna take a shower.”

Before Louis can further press the subject, Liam walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He turns on the shower and sits on the edge of the tub for a couple of minutes, breathing a little hard. It’s not until he hears the bedroom door open and close, that he turns off the shower and walks back into the empty bedroom. He grabs his sports bag, frowning at the amount of clothes stuffed into it—it looks like he packed about half his wardrobe. _Whatever._ He shrugs, slings the bag over his shoulder and bolts out of the apartment before he can run into anyone else.

 

**


	6. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis may be getting somewhere, and Liam is really fucking hoping he is, because things are getting complicated.

He hasn’t heard from Louis, and he has to remind himself that no news is good news. That it, hopefully, means Tommo’s working his magic on Styles. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for Louis to respond to his fucking texts. He knows that Louis doesn’t bother responding to calls or texts unless he feels like it, but this is serious. Liam needs to know what’s happening. Too much depends on this.

Liam leans back against the mirror in the elevator, rubbing his neck and shoulders in attempt to loosen the muscles there. God, he’s tired. He just really, really needs some sleep. The doors open and Liam peels his tired body off the wall and steps out.

“Liam?” His mother’s voice cuts in, as soon as Liam steps into the hallway – _Great_. He takes a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he sighs, trying not to sounds as worn out as he feels.

“Come here for a minute.” She sounds formal, and her voice is coming from the office. So it’s going to be _a talk_. Lovely. Just what he needed right now. Well, why not? It’s been a shit day anyway.

He makes his way to the office at the end of the hall, tossing his bag into his bedroom when he walks past it. It always feels like he’s being called into the principal’s office. Mostly because whenever he’s told to come in here, it’s to berate him.

His legs feel like lead. He really needs to sleep. He rubs a rough hand over his face, and presses the palms of his hands into his eyes in attempt to wake them up.

He steps into the room to find his mother sat in one of the modern leather chairs, her legs tightly crossed and her lips pursed. She sips on her drink—probably scotch, this time of day—the ice tinkling against the glass as she sets it down on the small side-table.

“Sit down,” she says, motioning to the chair across from her. The office is well decorated, shiny awards and impressive volumes showering the shelves of the dark wooden bookcases. The walls are adorned with certificates and recommendations. The large windows framed by ceiling-to-floor drapes, filtering out any sunlight that might bring some warmth into the room.

Liam sighs but takes the seat, already feeling oppressed in the stuffy space.

“So, I’ve been informed of a new student in your year.”

Oh, that’s just— Fucking great. This day just could not get any better.

“A boy named Harry Styles?” It’s not a question. Her tone is cold and calculated. “Apparently, he is also applying for Brenton.” For the first time since Liam’s walked in, his mother looks at him. As soon as she fixes her eyes on Liam, he wishes she hadn’t.

“He’s not a problem.” He keeps his face composed, but he can feel the cold sweat that’s clinging to his back.

“I beg to differ.” Her voice sounds like shards. “His grades are better than yours, and people like him.”

Liam’s eyes drop to the floor. He gaze falls on his feet. There are scuff marks on his trainers—black swipes on the white leather—it reminds him of Louis. He huffs out a soft chuckle, quiet enough that his mother doesn’t hear it.

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I’m dealing with it,” Liam states as confidently as he can. He forces himself to meet her eyes. His mother glares at him.

“You’d better be.”

After a minute or so, his mother hasn’t said anything else, or acknowledged his presence, so Liam feels it’s safe to assume the conversation is over. He pushes himself out of the chair, and heads for the door. His bed is calling for him, and he can’t wait to crash into it. He is about to walk out of the room, so, so close, when—

“Liam…”

He turns back to his mother, whose face is hard and still. She locks eyes with him.

“Don’t disappoint.”

It’s a warning more than anything else. She doesn’t wait for Liam to respond, her attention already back on her drink.

Liam walks back to his room, something slithering in the pit of his stomach, bile rising. He barely makes it to his bathroom before throwing up.

**

“I haven’t heard one fucking word from you. I hope that’s because your mouth’s been too busy sucking on Styles’ fucking dick.”

Louis’ barely set foot in the house when Liam lays into him.

“Now, now, Keats,” Louis raises his hands in surrender. “Slow down with the sonnets. You know poetry gets me weak.”

“Ha. Ha.” Liam is so not in the mood for jokes. He hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep since Styles decided to complicate his life, Louis’ been ignoring Liam’s every text, and to make things worse, his mother now feels the need to remind Liam of what’s at stake. Like, he could somehow forget.

“Ha. Ha,” Louis parrots mockingly, amused as he casually sidesteps Liam. He hops onto the bed, knocking down pillows and Liam’s gym clothes that he was in the process of pulling out of his bag when he heard Louis’ shuffling footsteps down the hall. He’s pretty sure they smell.

Louis drapes himself over the covers; limbs sprawled and stretched as far as they’ll go. He looks ridiculous. Despite the weight that seems to be permanently lodged in Liam’s stomach, he can’t help but look at Louis, the corners of his mouth tugging up. Louis is a little shit. He knows exactly how to push Liam’s buttons, and he looks in the perfect mood for it.

Fuck it. Liam can’t deal with this right now. He’s not in the mood to deal with sexual tension on top of everything else. He needs to relax. Without another thought, he waltzes out of the room, leaving the image of Louis spread out on his bed behind him.

“Where’s the parents?” he hears Louis call after him as Liam makes his way to Zayn’s room.

“Holiday,” he calls back. “In Cannes. Back next week.” It had been the best news all week. Hopefully it will take the pressure off, give Liam some time to deal with the Styles situation without his mother breathing down his fucking neck.

He hears Louis mumble something, but he can’t hear what. Probably something snarky.

He knocks on Zayn’s bedroom door, ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign in its usual spot.

“Yeah?” Zayn sounds a little groggy. He was probably napping.

“There you are, you idiot. Where the fuck were you? You weren’t here when I got home. Where did you go?”

“Running.”

“Running?” For a second Liam thinks he must have heard it wrong. “You run? Why are you running?”

Liam can’t recall Zayn ever doing any physical exercise unless it was strictly necessary. He can’t imagine Zayn voluntarily running, unless he was being chased by a bear. Or if, like, a building was on fire. Maybe. Does Zayn even own a tracksuit?

Zayn just shrugs. “Dunno. Wanted to?”

“Right,” Liam says dryly, because he doesn’t really know how else to respond to Zayn going for a jog. “Well, Louis’ here. We’ll probably get dinner or something soon. Or just hang about here.”

“Cool.” Zayn seems a little—off. He’s wearing his glasses, dark frame framing even darker eyes, but they don’t cover the red edge to Zayn’s eyes—a telltale sign he’s stoned. Again.

“Come on, then.” Liam grabs the sleeve of Zayn’s shirt and strings him along, back to his room, where Louis is undoubtedly up to no good. 

“Hey, Tommo,” Zayn smiles when he sees Louis. Zayn likes Louis, and Liam’s grateful for the little smile. “I found a cool book. It’s from the point of view of a goat.”

Louis barks out a laugh. “Where do you get this shit, Zayn?”

“Liam got it for me,” Zayn says fondly.

Liam feels heat creep up his neck, as he catches Louis smirking at him.

“Only ‘cause it was free,” he interjects, before Louis can say anything.

It wasn’t. But he’d wanted to get something for Zayn—he’s been looking a little out of it. And if he’s starting _running,_ it’s clearly serious.

“Awwweh,” Louis coos, anyway. Because, of course he does. “Look it, you two.”

Whenever Liam does anything remotely nice, Louis _has_ to comment on it. It’s like a compulsive behavior. Liam’s not sure if Louis does it because he knows it makes Liam self-conscious, and he gets a kick of that, or if he does it because he doesn’t know how else to respond. Liam’s considered getting Louis a gift once or twice, but always ends up deciding against it—Louis would only give him shit for it, anyway, and he doesn’t particularly feel like opening that door.

“Brothers for life, you are.” Louis coos.

“Oh, fuck off,” Liam snaps. He’s still annoyed with Louis for ignoring him the last couple of days.

But, at the exact same time, he hears Zayn mutter, “Probably.”

He’s pretty sure Louis can see the heat reaching Liam’s cheeks. He still looks at Zayn a little fondly, though, just because.

“So,” Liam turns to Louis, before he can make any further comments. Time to get to the point. “What’s the progress, then?”

Louis slowly stretches out on Liam’s bed. “Progress?” he asks innocently, but there’s a shit-eating grin, just beneath the surface. But Louis pouts his lips and blinks wide eyes up at Liam, raking his eyes over Liam’s body.

Liam feels his body tense, out of his control. Equal parts frustration and want coursing through him.

“With Harry Styles,” he grits out. “Progress.”

“Ahhhh, yes,” Louis sings, and Zayn smiles, amused. “Hm, let me think…” He taps his fingers against his lips, feigning contemplation.

“He’s failing, Li,” Zayn cuts in, grinning at Louis, before looking up at Liam, amused. He’s sitting on his hands on Liam’s desk chair.

“Still??” Liam blurts out. _You’ve got to be fucking kidding, right?_  


He can feel his skin flush, the weight in his stomach solidifying. _No, no, no._ He needs Louis to succeed. He was- no _is_ \- depending on it.

“Hey!” Louis snaps at Zayn, sparking a flicker of hope in Liam’s gut.

“Not anymore, no. Today we had a breakthrough.” He grins, wide and toothy, turning to Liam. Liam slowly exhales in relief.

“He wants me to keep bothering him. The only reason he was wary at first is because he’s heard about me. Or something like that.” Louis rolls his eyes. “But he’s dumb enough not to listen to anyone. Says he wants to form his opinions himself. So. He’s walking into a den of wolves willingly, really. So, all in all, we’re good,” Louis concludes with a large grin.

Liam feels the knot in his stomach loosen ever so slightly. They can do this. Louis is getting closer. He glances over to Zayn, whose smile is replaced with a frown, his lips in a downward tilt. He remains silent and he’s not looking at Liam or Louis. Liam tries to ignore sad look in his eyes, and the pang it triggers in Liam’s chest.

“Perfect,” he says, focusing on Louis instead. “Just one step closer, then. I knew I could count on you, Tommo.”

“Yep.” Louis is staring back at Liam, his eyes heavy, as he licks his lips. “I never disappoint.”

His words are deliberately slow. It’s doing things to Liam, heat curling at the bottom of his spine. Louis almost reaches out, Liam catches the slight hint of movement—can see that Louis wants it, too—and almost feels himself gravitate towards it.

 Zayn moves then and, oh yeah. Zayn.

Zayn is observing them, eyes sliding from Louis to Liam and back, like he’s watching a very slow game of tennis.

“You two are weird,” he drawls as he shakes his head. His glasses slide down a little, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Zayn’s focus appears to lie on a crumpled piece of paper—a letter Liam received earlier, that he is trying really hard to forget about.

“Looks, guys,” Zayn says as he picks up the letter, and Liam forgets to breathe. “It looks like the moon.”

Louis laughs, as he shakes his head fondly at Zayn. Zayn—who Liam is becoming more and more worried about. An uneasy feeling twists in his stomach, and Liam feels like he’s about to explode as he looks at Zayn’s vacant eyes, still focused on that damn paper. But then he says something and Louis laughs again, and it sounds like wind chimes and pulls Liam back to Earth.

He listens to Louis and Zayn banter and watches as Zayn topples over, clutching his stomach in a fit of giggles. Louis barks out a laugh, pointing at Zayn mockingly, while his eyes do that crinkling thing they do when Louis really laughs, and Liam breathes a little easier. They might be alright. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, and for sticking with it. I know I'm taking forever, so thank you for your patience.  
> As always, any feedback is appreciated :)


	7. Family ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam (re)connects with family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since the last chapter, and I apologize for not publishing more regularly.  
> It's something I'm trying to work on.
> 
> I've diverted a bit from the original story line here--nothing too major, but I felt the need to add some context on Liam's side.  
> I'm hoping you don't hate it.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it, and taking the time to read it. :)

**VII. Family ties**

 

“So what d’you think he wants?” Zayn asks, looking up from the letter in his hands.

“I don’t know… I mean, what could he want?”

“Well, he says he just wants to meet you, go for coffee,” he reads aloud, looking at the letter again. “So, like, maybe that’s all he wants.”

He sounds so calm. How can Zayn be so calm?

“Why?” Liam asks, skeptical, wringing his hands uncomfortably. “Like, why would he want to meet me? He already knows who I am.”

“Does he, though?” Zayn’s voice is soft, careful. “Li, he hasn’t seen you in years.”

“Exactly, so why now?” Liam cuts in. “I wasn’t good enough then, so why now? Jesus. Like I don’t have enough to worry about without this bullshit.”

“Some of that stuff you decide to worry about when you really don’t need to.”

He’s referring to Styles, of course. Liam knows he is. He ignores it. Luckily, Zayn lets it go.

“I think he’s just trying to get to know you, Li. Or wants to, anyway. Like, I don’t know ‘why now’, but at least he’s trying.” Zayn mumbles at the ground, and Liam instantly feels like a dick. Zayn’s right. At least, his dad is trying to get back in touch. Unlike some parents.

“Better late than never?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Zayn smiles small, meeting Liam’s eyes.

“Yeah. So you’re gonna meet him then?”

Liam sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Fuck, just the thought makes him nervous.

“I think you should,” Zayn adds, handing Liam back the letter.

Liam quirks an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Well,” he sighs, “Both our parental role models are pretty fucked up. Maybe this is your chance to find a decent one.”

Zayn smirks and Liam chuckles. God knows Zayn’s not wrong.

“Fair enough. Not sure he qualifies as a role model. You know, considering.”

Zayn shrugs and lights a cigarette. “Can’t be worse than the ones we have now.”

Okay, fuck. He’s actually doing this then.

 

**  


“So…how’s school?”

His dad looks the same. Older—but the same. He’d told Liam the very same thing when he came in.

“School’s fine. I’m in the top three of my class,” he states. He ignores the uneasy feeling that he can no longer say ‘top of my class’.

His dad’s expression is unreadable, and Liam prepares for the question of why he isn’t top of his class anymore.

“Do you enjoy it?” He asks instead.

Liam blinks for second, “Excuse me?”

“School,” his dad clarifies. “Do you enjoy it?”

It seems like such an odd question.

“I’m not sure,” he replies honestly. His dad nods and sips his tea.

“I enjoy seeing my friends, and I enjoy some of the classes. Mostly, it’s means to an end, though. I’m trying to get into Brenton.”

A small part of him registers that he said ‘trying to’ instead of ‘getting into’. He’s not sure when that happened. He pushes away the thought.

“Ambitious,” his dad states neutrally. “I’m sure your mother’s very proud.”

Liam scoffs before he can stop himself, and his dad looks at him, face breaking into a wry smile. It’s a sincere one, a knowing one.

“Perhaps not,” he adds. “She was never one to appreciate effort rather than result.”

“Why would someone be proud of an almost-achievement?” Liam quotes his mother. “Lots of people try. It’s the ones that succeed that matter.”

His dad merely nods.

“There’s a lot of things your mother doesn’t appreciate, Liam,” he says, a little sadly. “I’m not here to speak ill of her,” he adds quickly. “But let’s just say we value different things in life—it’s why our marriage didn’t work. We both chased an accomplished life. Over time it just became clear we had a very different interpretation of the concept. Mine was happiness.”

Liam considers this. Many people would consider his mother very accomplished, very successful. Liam doubts she’s happy, though. Honestly, he’s not sure she’s overly familiar with the concept. If she is, he’s sure it’s not a priority or even a factor in her life.

He realizes he hasn’t spoken for a good few minutes and is about to apologize, but when he looks up his dad is simply sipping his tea in peace.

“So, what is you do now, then?”

“I’m a landscape architect.” He smiles proudly.

“After your mother,” he says tentatively, “After our divorce, I got my degree. Went back to school, got my degree, got a job. Have been there for a couple of years now. It’s decent pay. Nothing that would sustain your mother’s lifestyle,” he laughs, “but enough to buy me a sizeable house in the countryside.”

“Look,” he sighs, and Liam knows what’s coming, and he’s not sure he’s ready for it.

“I know we haven’t seen each other for a long time, and we don’t know each other very well, but I’d really like for that to change. And if you ever wanted to, you’d be very welcome at the manor. For like the summer, or something.”

Liam blinks at him, bewildered. Last week, he didn’t have a dad as far as he was concerned and now he’s being invited to spend the summer with him?

“You’re inviting me to spend the summer with you?” he asks incredulously. He doesn’t mean for it to sound harsh, but he just doesn’t get it.

“No offense, but, like you said, we don’t know each other, and you’re responsible for that, if you recall. You bailed. Not just on mum, but on me. I haven’t fucking heard from you in years, and now you’re inviting me to spend the summer at your place, like nothing’s happened?”

“Liam…” his dad looks horrified. “You—you don’t know, do you?”

_Know what?_

“Why I’ve not been in touch until now?”

Liam frowns at him, confused.

“Your mother never told you,” he states, talking more to himself than anyone else, “of course she wouldn’t.”

His dad looks up at him, eyes filled with pain.

“When we got divorced,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “She didn’t want me to be a part of your upbringing—be a bad influence, and all that—so she suggested _a deal_ , as she phrased it. I would not be a part of your life until you were of legal adult age, and she would not _pursue_ her right to alimony. I-I couldn’t afford whatever she would have claimed for. So…I agreed.”

He looks physically in pain as he speaks those last words.

Liam swallows hard, trying to process it all. His mother legally bound his dad from contacting him, or she’d sue him for all the money he had. That’s why he’d waited until now. _Would she really do that?_

Liam considers the woman he knows and her ambitions for Liam’s future, and the complications his father would present to that future. Yes, she would. She absolutely would—Hell, she did. _Fuck_.

He’s feeling a little choked and tries to clear his throat. It doesn’t help.

“Liam,” his dad leans over and reaches across the table. “I’m so sorry.”

He carefully places a hand over Liam’s hand. He realizes he’s been clutching his coffee cup in a vice grip, knuckles white. He fights the urge to pull back his hand.

He looks up at his dad, whose eyes are filled with a sorrow that he doesn’t understand, until he feels his own eyes sting.

“I’m sorry, Liam” his dad says again, “we fucked up our marriage, and you got fucked in the process, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Liam chuckles a wet laugh at the statement. His dad has no idea how true that is.  


 

They sit and talk for little while longer. His dad asks about the classes he enjoys and does he still draw, because he used to be so good. He’s delighted to hear Liam does still draw, and is even more delighted to hear Zayn encourages it.

Liam talks about Zayn, and his dad’s eyes are warm and kind the whole time.

When they leave the coffee shop, he implores Liam to think about his offer to come spend the summer. And Liam promises he’ll consider it.

As Liam walks back to his car, he realizes he truly is considering it, and is maybe even carefully excited about it. He checks his phone—one text from Zayn, asking how it’s going—nothing from Louis. Liam tries to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

 

***  


“Hey, how’d it go?” Zayn asks as soon as Liam steps into his bedroom.

“It was… Okay, I think.”

“Well, you’re here, and not at a police station for attempted murder, so I’d say that’s a good sign.”

Liam laughs, feeling some of the day’s tension seep away.

“Seriously, though. How was he?”

“Sorry. He was sorry,” Liam says, not unkindly.

“He apologized?” Zayn asks, surprised but sincere.

“Yeah,” Liam nods, “He-he explained some things that happened with, like, the divorce and stuff. And we talked. And then he asked if I wanted to come spend the summer with him.”

Zayn’s eyes grow wide.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna?”

Liam shrugs in lieu of an answer. He’s really not sure how he feels about it.

Zayn nods, but doesn’t ask anything else. Liam is grateful.  


 

They spend a few minutes in silence, Liam checking his phone—still nothing from Louis.

“I was thinking of giving Tommo a key,” Liam says, eyes glued to his phone screen _._ Not getting any sign that Zayn’s heard him, he looks up. He finds Zayn staring at him, eyes vacant. “So, what d’you think?”

“About what?” Zayn blinks slowly, confused.

“About giving Tommo a key,” Liam repeats. “To the apartment.”

Zayn’s eyebrows slowly unknit from their confused frown, instead crawling up into his hairline as his eyes widen in surprise.

“Look, I know we don’t usually do this stuff,” Liam adds quickly, in defense of Zayn’s unspoken words. “But Tommo’s a mate, and I trust him.”

At that, Zayn’s eyes grow wider, and his eyebrows pull so far up, Liam’s pretty sure they’re now somewhere on the back of his head.

“What?” Liam snaps defensively.

“You really like him.”

“Yeah, ‘course I do,” Liam huffs, casually, “I wouldn’t suggest giving him a key if I didn’t fucking like him.” He rolls his eyes at Zayn, who doesn’t say anything but continues to look at Liam intently.

He feels uncomfortable when Zayn focuses so intensely on him. Really, most things Zayn does, he does with intensity—Liam doubts Zayn is capable of doing anything casually. Any conversation with Zayn becomes intense, at some point, so he’d really rather steer clear of any talk revolving Liam’s feelings. And he just knows that’s where this is headed.

Liam starts collecting the clothes strewn about the room—why is there always shit on the floor?—but he can feel Zayn’s eyes needling into his back.

“Besides,” he tries in an attempt to break the tension, “it’s just easier, isn’t it? With him crashing here all the time anyway.”

“Yeah, why is that, by the way?”

Liam can actually feel Zayn’s eyes lifting from his back and he slowly releases the breath he was holding.

“I mean, obviously I don’t mind,” Zayn adds, and Liam hears the flick of a lighter. “Just wonderin’, like, where does he live? ‘Cause it’s just weird, isn’t it? Have you ever been to his place?”

No, he hasn’t, exactly. And he’s pretty sure he knows why that is. He knows Zayn wouldn’t care about it, and he’s grateful for the change of topic, so Liam turns around, only to find Zayn lighting another joint.

“Should you really smoke another one, mate?” It comes out a little judgmental.

Zayn just shrugs. “Don’t see why not, ‘s not like I got anythin’ else to occupy my time. Unless you’d like to talk about why you _really_ wanna give Tommo a key?”

You know what? Liam really isn’t the one to judge on how much Zayn does or doesn’t smoke.

“Nope, I’m good.” Liam focuses on picking up the rest of the dirty clothes, ‘cause they’re so not going there.

Zayn slowly shakes his head and exhales around a laugh, smoke curling around his cheekbones.

“Anyway, so you good with it—giving Tommo a key?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

He looks at Zayn, who is grinning, and Liam throws the clothes at him. A pair of dirty shorts lands on his head, where it hangs off the side in his ruffled hair.

Zayn, slow as a sloth, moves a hand to pick it out of his hair with two delicate fingertips. He inspects it for a second, scowling at Liam before bursting into giggles.

Liam shakes his head, smirking, before tackling Zayn to the ground, tickling his sides until they’re both hiccupping from laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and (as always) any feedback is appreciated, so feel free to leave a comment.


	8. One More Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam and Zayn visit Louis at the pub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back to this. :)
> 
> After a little diversion last chapter, this chapter picks up on Gods & Monsters' story line again.
> 
> (Also, it's really late right now, so if I've missed any spelling/grammar errors or major typos, forgive me.  
> Also, please point them out so I can change them :P)

After the events of the last few days, Liam could really use a distraction. He slept in far too late, and he feels like shit. He hasn’t even bothered putting on some proper clothes. He’s managed to drag Zayn out of his room, playing the sympathy card—it was a cheap shot, he’ll admit. But he really does need a distraction. And a fucking drink.

They step into the dingy pub, memories of too many shots, cigarettes and wet, outrageous lips flooding his mind. He ignores them and follows Zayn to the bar.

“Well, look who it is!” Louis greets them, clearly surprised to see them there. He gives Liam a once-over, frowning slightly, and Liam instantly regrets showing up in his fucking trackies. He doesn’t even want think about the state of his hair. He’d very much just like to slam his head on the counter and maybe just give up on life.

“Nice to see you lads?” Louis quirks an eyebrow.

Liam really didn’t think this through. He’s in a piss-poor mood, and subjecting himself to Louis’ sass probably isn’t the smartest thing.

“He’s mad,” Zayn explains for him. He leaves it at that. “Can I have a drink?”

Louis nods, smiling.

“Here you go, lad,” he grins at Zayn. “Drink up.”

Liam feels a hint of irrational jealousy. He should be grateful Louis is focusing in Zayn, really, because he’s being lousy company. He’s actually sulking, he knows he is.

“Best give one to Liam.” Zayn says with a sympathetic wince. “He’s proper upset. Alice Horan’s trying to host his mum’s charity gala. You know the big annual one we always throw?”

Louis nods, absently cleaning some pint glasses.

“Well, I guess her son’s coming to live her or summat, so she wants to host it so she can introduce him to everyone.”

“To _parade_ him, more like,” Liam interjects, wrapping his arms around his waist. He digs his fingers into his sides, trying to ground himself. “She’s such a fucking cunt. This is _my_ family’s event. I was meant to host it. For the first time ever.”

Saying it out loud makes it sting just that bit more, and he turns so Louis can’t see his face.

“Right,” Louis drawls behind him. “Well, that’s…unfortunate.”

“Charities are just so fun,” he adds, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Fuck off,” Liam spits before he can stop himself. He’s turned to glare at Louis, who is now grinning.

“Scotch on the rocks?” he smirks, and Liam knows he’s lost this round.

“Yeah, fine,” he relents. He grabs the drink from Louis as soon as he’s poured it and downs it in one shot. Zayn and Louis both watch with amused expressions.

“It’s alright, Liam,” Zayn says fondly, patting Liam’s arm. “You would’ve been a better host, anyway. Her teeth are weird. You have nice teeth.” Zayn smiles warmly, swaying a little on the spot.

“I’m still going to be the host,” Liam reminds him. He’s not going to give up that easily. He’s been waiting for a chance to prove himself at an event this big, and fuck knows he needs to prove himself right now.

“She hasn’t fucking won yet. Not if mum has anything to say about it,” he adds, although he’s really hoping he can leave her out of this.

“Or my father,” Zayn adds, closely examining his pint glass with fascination. “He won’t let her host it. He can be quite scary.”

“Yeah, he can,” Louis mumbles under his breath. Liam chuckles softly at the idea of those two facing off.

“You say her son’s coming to live with her, though? That’ll be fun,” he flashes Liam a shit-eating grin, and Liam knows what’s coming before Louis says it.

“More competition for you at your precious school, eh?”

_And there it is._ An uneasy feeling creeps into his skin.

“Hey, don’t be mean,” Zayn frowns at Louis. “That’s not cool. Liam’s vulnerable right now.”

“I am not vulnerable!” Liam snaps, feeling his cheeks heat.

Zayn reaches over to grab Liam’s hand, lacing their fingers. _And no, no way._ This is about as awkward as Liam can handle.

“Are you holding my fucking hand?” Liam splutters, trying to weasel his fingers out of Zayn’s grip. Fucker has an iron grip.

“Yeah,” Zayn drawls, smiling lazily. “You’re my brother. ’s not weird.”

Liam strongly disagrees.

“Oh, you’re very weird,” Louis laughs. “I can assure you.”

Liam feels his face flush. He gives up on trying to wrestle his hand free, though. He hears roaring laughter, and he’s hyper-aware of the burley blokes in the corner of the pub. He really hopes they won’t spot them holding hands, because getting the shit beat out of them is something he’d really like to avoid. Zayn and Louis don’t seem to care though, so he tries to ignore the anxious feeling in his bones.

“I’m not worried about her rat of a son,” he tells Louis. “My sources tell me he’s harmless. Just annoying. And dumb.”

The kid doesn’t seem to be a threat. He’s barely passing classes, if and when he bothers showing up. He’s not a threat, academically speaking. He’s also gay, and not out, so if he _were_ to become a threat, that would be easily handled.

“Anyway, I’m not concerned about him individually. I’m just concerned about how his cow of a mother is going to act and how she’s going to flaunt him like—”

It hits him like a lightning bolt— Alice Horan. Liam still owes her a little payback for offering Styles the student speech at the school’s gala, and now she’s trying to take the Payne-Malik charity gala from him, too. She deserves to be taken down a notch.

“Are you alright, Li?” Zayn’s voice pulls him back. “Did you enter another dimension?” (Zayn needs to stop smoking.)

“Hold up. Hold the fuck up.” Liam quickly goes over the plan in his head. It’s perfect. Discredit the son—discredit Alice Horan. She’ll have to withdraw from the organization committee. All he needs to do is out the kid to his mother. And he happens to be looking at the one person who could do that, no problem.

He locks eyes with Louis, who looks back with determination.

“Can I help you?” he asks, arching a brow in suspicion.

“Yeah, you can.”

Zayn pulls his hand away from Liam, wary. He prods Liam’s arm, trying to catch his eye. “Liam?”

Liam ignores the silent plea in Zayn’s voice.

“Niall Horan is an idiot, yes. But you know what else he is, according to every single person who’s given me dirt on him?”

“Uh, Irish?” Louis quips.

“He’s gay.”

“Oh. Well, good on him?”

“Closeted, too.”

“Isn’t everyone around here?” Louis smirks, his eyes boring into Liam’s. Liam ignores the flash of heat in his gut.

“Alice doesn’t know. She’s a very staunch, religious Irish woman. Hates the idea that her son could be anything but perfect and straight.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Louis sighs, wary. _Does he really need to spell it out?_

“Well, Louis. Let’s see. I hate Alice Horan. Her son’s coming to live with her. Alice Horan doesn’t want a scandal in her family, least of all one that pertains to her precious, beloved only child that she’s trying to show off as her pride and joy. She would just be destroyed if she were to discover that her son is, in fact, a homosexual male.”

Louis looks at with an incredulous look. “Liam—”

“She would keel over from the horror of her son fucking another boy. Let alone someone like _you_.”

Louis glares at him. _Good_. Liam needs that fire.

“And best of all—if you succeed, it’ll be a quiet affair. She won’t tell a fucking soul. It’ll all be hushed up and pushed under the rug. Who knows, you might even get paid off, Tommo. And our other little conquest will never even hear a whisper of it.”

“Harry,” Louis mumbles quietly.

“What?”

“Harry,” Louis repeats, with a bit of an awkward shrug. “Harry will never hear about it.”

“Er. Alright? Whatever.” Since when does Louis care about what they call Styles?

“Point is. Do this, Louis. Do this, and you get me _forever_ , okay? I promise. I’m all yours. And everything I have with me—yours.”

Louis’ eyes grow wide, and Liam knows he’s considering it. Liam is also suddenly very aware of Zayn sitting next to him. He’s hunched in on himself, hugging his waist, and looking at Liam with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Louis leans forward on the bar. “Wasn’t that the original deal?”

“I never promised what it would entail. I just promised you a fuck.”

He knows he’s not being fair to Louis—that wasn’t the deal—but he needs him to do this.

“I’m not going after Styles for just a fuck, Li. That was not the deal.” _Styles_ , not _Harry_ , Liam notes with some satisfaction.

“So then fuck this Horan kid, too. And I’m all yours.”

Zayn is quiet, staring intently at the floor, but Liam can see the pained frown, anyway.

“I can’t do both,” Louis snips. “No way. I’m not doing both. Styles is hard enough on his own.”

“I think it’s him _not_ being hard that’s the problem,” Liam shoots back. He knows Louis wants Styles, because he presents a challenge. And Louis can’t back down from a challenge. He just can’t do it. So Liam needs to give him one he can’t turn down.

“Fuck off, Li. Come on. I can’t do both. Harry is only just warming up, okay? It’s difficult—”

“Are you scared? You can’t handle it? You’ve gotten weaker?”

“Liam—” Zayn sounds hurt. Disappointed. Liam will deal with it later. Right now, he needs Louis to take the bait.

“This is all you have, Louis. This is all you’re good at, mate. Sorry to be a dick. But it’s true. So make your own choice. But if you’re not even good enough to succeed twice at the only thing you can successfully manage… Then what else do you have?”

He’s being unfairly cruel, he knows. He swallows the bile at the back of his throat. He’s just played on every insecurity Louis has, and he knows it’s fucking shitty thing to do. But he needs Louis on board with this. After this, they’re done playing games. He will make things right, somehow.

A quick glance at Zayn shows him staring intently at the floor, his back tense and his shoulders hunched like he’s in pain, and a deep frown etched into his face.

Louis only flinches for a second before his face becomes stoic, an unreadable mask.

“Yeah, alright,” Louis looks up at Liam with cold eyes. “I’ll do it.”

They shake hands on the deal, and Liam looses the breath he’d been holding.

 

**

  

“Why’d you do that?” Zayn asks the second they step outside.

“Hmm?”

“You know what—Tommo.” Zayn sounds so disappointed. Sad too, maybe. Fuck, he knew this was coming.

“What about him?”

“Don’t do that, Liam. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you did. He didn’t wanna do it, and you played him. What I wanna know, is why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? You’ve never wanted to hear about this shit before, so why are you so interested now?”

“That’s bullshit, Li. You know it is. This was different, this shit you pulled. You played him, got him to agree to something he clearly didn’t wanna do. It’s a shitty thing to do to your friends. And you know it, coz you haven’t looked me in the eye since.”

He really hates that Zayn knows him so well, sometimes. Zayn knows Liam hasn’t looked at him because he’ll see Zayn’s hurt eyes, and his hurt face, and his hurt everything. And Liam did that.

He sighs heavily, and drags his eyes up to Zayn’s face. Yep, there it is—the hurt.

“Look,” he sighs again. “I know that was shitty, okay?”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just continues to look at Liam, his eyes hurt and his face tense.

“It just need him to do this. I need Louis to focus on this Niall kid ‘cause—” _I need him to take a break from Styles._ “I told you before about the shit Alice Horan pulled, and—”

“Oh, cut the crap, Liam. This isn’t about Alice Horan, or her kid. This is about Louis, and this _mission_ you’ve set him on with Harry.”

Zayn looks like thunder. Like he could summon a storm, gather the clouds and lay siege to the world. His eyes are darker than Liam has ever seen them, and his brow and jaw are set in square brackets. And he’s actually raising his voice, and… well, he’s never done that before. Not to Liam. Ever.

“Why can’t you just tell him? Why does it have to be such a poisonous fucking thing? Why can’t you just tell him you love him?”

Liam flinches a little at the words, spoken so casually. Like they’re not a big deal. Like they don’t make Liam’s palms sweat, his head spin and his stomach turn. He feels a little sick and shaky.

“Zayn…” he tries, more quiet than even he was expecting, his eyes shooting to the gritty sidewalk.

Zayn’s face softens infinitesimally. The anger in his eyes slowly fading into that hurt look again. Fuck, Liam honestly doesn’t know which is worse.

“You don’t need to do that, you know? Like, whore yourself out to be with Louis. It’s a fucked up thing, Li, this deal of yours. Why the fuck would you even—”

“I have nothing else to offer him,” Liam says quietly. And he realizes it’s the truth as soon as he says it.

“That’s bullshit, Li. You’ve got so much to offer. You’re just too fucking scared to let him see it.”

Liam doesn’t know what to say to that. So he doesn’t say a thing.

Zayn’s a romantic. He sees things in Liam that no one else does, that Liam himself doesn’t even see. Zayn wants to see the best in people, which Liam admires. But he’s seen too much of people to know the truth. If he told Louis how he really—No, there’s no way that would go well. Not a fucking chance.

Zayn sighs, shaking his head at Liam.

“Whatever, Liam. Do what you want. But don’t come running to me when you’ve lost your best fucking friend. Okay?”

“Okay…” Liam’s voice is about as small as he feels, but Zayn still catches it. “I thought _you_ were my best friend though…”

“I’m your _brother_ , you arsehole. I was talking about Louis.”

Liam can hear just the smallest smile in his voice, and when he chances a look at Zayn’s face, he can see the faintest quirk at his lips.

“I’m your brother,” Zayn says again. “And I love you. Which is why I’m allowed to tell you when you’re being a dick.” His eyes have regained some of their usual warmth, all traces of the previously impending hurricane gone.

“You love me, even when I’m a dick?” Liam quips, tentatively nudging Zayn’s side with his elbow.

“Always.” He says it with a genuine smile, and it fills Liam with an indescribable warmth, eases the queasiness in his gut.

“Doesn’t excuse you, though,” he adds, face stern.

Liam is about to respond, when, out of nowhere, Zayn jumps up on his back, slinging his arms around Liam’s shoulders, and folding his skinny legs around Liam’s waist.

“Now, I demand a piggyback ride home.”

Liam opens his mouth to protest, but then he thinks he’s probably getting off easy. He just sets his course, as he hoists Zayn further up his back, holding his wrists on his chest to keep him in place.

It’s a good thing Zayn is such a light-weight, because they’re about halfway when Liam feels Zayn’s body go slack, and not a minute later Zayn’s head is lolling into his neck.

Liam rolls his eyes, and chuckles a little as Zayn drools on his shoulder. Definitely a lightweight.

 

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading.  
> As always, feel free to leave a comment (good or bad). :)


	9. Belle of the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall Horan arrives.  
> Louis might be losing his touch.  
> And basically, things are turning to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, my apologies. But it's a fairly-sized chapter.  
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> *In light of recent events, I would just like to state (although it should go without saying) that this story and the characters are purely fictional, and are in no way associated with or represent the boys. They are not a reflection of what I think about the actual people, their lives, relationships, etc.  
> It's fiction. No disrespect meant, in any way.*

 

“Well?” His mother asks, tapping her foot impatiently.

The parents had come home from Cannes this morning, and his mother had pulled Liam aside as soon as he had stepped foot inside. He wills his headache to subside, regretting having quite so many drinks the night before. It had been a good night, though. Zayn dragged him down to the pub again, and Louis had filled their glasses until closing.

They’d spent a couple hours chilling at the flat, smoking the last of their weed. It had felt like old times. Louis had been more of his usual relaxed and flirty self. He’d brushed his lips over Liam’s, grinning, laughing at Zayn’s groans of protest. Admittedly, he’d done it after Liam reminded him Horan was due to come in three days’ time, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Well!? What do you have to say?” A crass voice interrupts his thoughts—Right. His mother.

He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.

“Why was Alice Horan under the impression she would host this year’s charity gala?”

“It was a misunderstanding. It’s taken care of,” he assures her.

He had taken a new approach with Alice Horan, and it had paid off. Suggesting she focus on her son’s proper introductions—you can only make a first impression once, after all—while leaving the pressure and stress of planning such a highly anticipated event to someone else, had sowed enough doubt for her to pass on the organization. He’d even offered to take Niall under his wing.

“It’s not a problem,” he tells his mother, smiling unconvincingly (he really can’t be bothered right now).

His mother scoffs. “And her son?”

“I’ve invited him over to make some introductions.”

“Good,” his mother says, “You’ll want to keep an eye on him. He could be a… bad influence.”

Liam sort of likes the kid, just for that.

“You really don’t need _another_ one of those,” his mother adds pointedly.

Liam smiles to himself, knowing her obvious distaste would please Tommo to no end.

Speaking of Louis, he needs a word with him.

Liam had seen Harry earlier, quietly tucked up beneath a tree. He’d looked up expectantly any time someone so much as walked near him. Styles is still top of the class, ever the attentive little student, but it’s a comfort that Louis is affecting him in some way. Louis should be pleased he’s making progress with the kid. Frankly, Liam can’t wait for that little hurdle to be overcome.  
  
His mother scolds him for a few more minutes, pressing the importance of _blah, blah_ —Liam stopped paying attention about three seconds into her monologue—before finally being excused.

Liam makes his way to his bedroom. He hears Zayn bustling around in the kitchen—Malik Sr. being blessedly absent—and heads there instead.

“I’m home!” he drawls, as he drapes himself over Zayn’s shoulders.

“Louis’ in my room. On the floor. Sleeping,” he says by way of reply. He smiles fondly at Liam over his shoulder.

“Tommo’s here?” _Excellent!_ Liam’s mood instantly brightens.

“Tommo!” he exclaims, bursting into Zayn’s room. Louis is a crumpled mess on the floor, arms folded tightly over his face. He mumbles something unintelligible.

“Tommo, what are you doing down there? Surely, you’re not still sleeping?” He chuckles as Louis utters a desperate groan.

“What the fuck does it look like, Payne?”

“You haven’t left the flat? At all?” Jesus, how much did Louis drink last night?

Louis lifts an arm, tilting his head, to glare one-eyed at him.

“What do you fucking think? Now leave me. I feel like shit and you’re making it worse. Leave me.”

With that, Louis drops his arm back on his face.

“It’s almost four, you fucking idiot. You’ve slept the entire day,” he laughs.

“No wonder Styles looked so down when I left. He hasn’t gotten his daily visitor,” he smirks. Louis really should be proud. “I think he might be growing attached, Louis. Good boy. I can almost say I’m proud.”

That gets his attention—Louis jerks, sitting up slightly.

“What? You saw Harry?” Louis looks him over, as he speaks.

“Went past him as I was leaving. Looked proper glum.”

“Was he outside? Where was he?” Louis asks, paling a little. He sort of looks like he might puke. Maybe he properly overdid his drinking last night.

“Yeah, outside. I dunno—like. By the pond, sort of. Does it matter?”

Louis surges up, scrambling around for his shoes, patting down his pockets as he goes.

“Shit, I gotta go.”

Louis looks—worried. Genuinely. Which is weird. Right?

“Wait… You’re going to school? Now?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Just because of Styles?”

“Obviously.”

Liam watches him fumble with his shoelaces. There’s something about Louis’ frantic energy that sits uneasy in his gut. Obviously, the Styles kid is getting attached to Louis, but—Liam swallows around a wave of nausea—he hadn’t considered Louis might be getting attached to him.

He steps towards Louis, placing a hand on his shoulder, willing Louis to look at him.

“You don’t have to go. I don’t give a fuck if you skip a day—you’re obviously making progress. Besides, I doubt you’ll catch him. He looked like he was packing up to go.”

His eyes search Louis’, silently pleading.

“Don’t care,” is all Louis says, and darts out of Liam’s touch.

He sprints into the elevator, Zayn calling after him. “What about your tea?”

“I’ll be back in an hour!” he calls as the elevator doors close.

Zayn stands in the hallway, holding a cup of tea, blinking sheepishly.

“What’s happened there?”

“Harry,” Liam says by way of explanation. And if his voice betrays any of the irrational sadness he feels, Zayn doesn’t comment on it.

Liam shrugs, trying to shake off the feeling. He has no reason to feel— No reason whatsoever. He sent Louis after Styles, after all. Louis is just doing what he asked him.

Zayn watches him with eyes that see too much. He sets down the tea and throws an arm around Liam, pulling him into his side. Liam goes begrudgingly.

“Hey,” he says, a smile suddenly filling his face and his eyes spelling trouble.

He wiggles his eyebrows, “Wanna do something to piss off Martha? We’ve got a Gala to plan.”  


  


**

  


“Perfect.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Perfect? I look like a fucking waiter.”

He’s been in a foul mood since the minute he stepped inside, and Liam’s trying really, _really_ hard not to lose his patience.

He locks eyes with Louis in the reflection of the full-length mirror, slowly and silently counting to ten.

He leans over, chin almost—but not quite—hooking over Louis’ shoulder. He wraps an arm around each side to straighten Louis’ jacket. As he tugs the final crease out of the fabric, he softly brushes his lips by Louis’ neck. He squeezes Louis’ sides, silently claiming, and he feels the body tense under his touch.

Louis’ eyes never stray from his own.

“You look clean,” he says softly into his ear. “You look fit as fuck. There’s no way you won’t succeed.”

Louis swallows at himself in the mirror, before flitting his eyes back to Liam’s. On a slow exhale, Louis’ shoulders relax. His back straightens, and more determined eyes meet Liam’s.

“I know,” he replies mildly. “I always do.”

Something odd in Louis’ voice makes Liam’s insides squirm a little. It feels cold.

  


**

  
“He’ll come,” Liam replies, growing more than a little impatient.

Surely, they’ve been having this discussion for at least an hour. An hour in which Liam has been trying to convince Louis to convince Harry to show his face at the Payne-Malik Charity Gala. He’s sure that peace treaties don’t take this much fucking effort.

“Honestly, Liam,” Louis sighs, “I really don’t see it—”

If Louis tells him _again_ it’s not happening, he might actually punch a wall.

“Oh, he’ll come,” he interjects, trying a new approach to lighten the mood. “He’ll come very hard, I’m sure. For you.” He wiggles his eyebrows in exaggeration. Louis doesn’t show even a hint of amusement.

Liam sighs, resigning to Louis’ bad mood. There’s no changing it, it seems. He lays his selected outfit out on the bed, and steps back to look it over—perfect.

“You know,” Louis says to the floor, “Perhaps Harry isn’t as much of a threat as you make him out to be.”

Liam stops breathing then. Because _what the fuck did he just say_?

“Perhaps he’s… I dunno. Maybe we should just throw in the towel on this one. Just forget it. He’s a good lad, yeah? He’s not got any plans to ‘dethrone’ you in school or whatever. Trust me. He’s just—” Louis voice trails off, eyes still stuck on the floor.

Liam feels his throat close up. Louis wants to back out. Louis is _failing_.

“It’s not about ‘dethroning’, for fuck’s sake,” he snaps, now standing in nothing but his underwear. He tugs angrily at his sock. He needs Louis to understand the gravity of the situation.

“It’s about him taking _my_ spot at the one fucking university that I’ve preparing for my entire fucking life.” This isn’t about Liam’s fucking pride. “It’s about him taking my _future_ away from me.”

He takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling, trying to keep the panic from crawling up his throat.

“My parents have trained me for this since I was fucking born, for God’s sake!”

“Yeah, but—”

“Are you afraid, Louis?” Liam snaps his eyes to Louis.

“Are you afraid that this will be the one conquest you can’t obtain? That you’re going to fail for the first time?” _Or is it something else?_ He silently dares him.

He closely watches Louis’ face, trying to read—anything, really. Any sign that Louis might have any other reason for not wanting to go after Styles.

Louis’ face just snaps up, eyes narrowing to slits.

“You can’t win him,” Liam pushes, stepping closer. “You can’t do it. Can you?”

Louis’ eyes are daggers, fiercely blue. Liam takes another step, their noses almost touching now. And Liam pushes harder. “You can’t win _me_ ,” he whispers.

Louis is breathing fire, his eyes burning a hole somewhere in Liam’s neck.

“Are you getting weaker, Tomlinson?” he asks. And if there is a trace of fear in the question, his voice doesn’t betray it.

“No,” Louis spits. “No, I’m bloody not. I’ll get him, yeah? I’ll win.”

Louis raises his gaze to meet Liam’s. “The Horan boy, too. Both of them. Just give me one night and they’re both mine.”

Liam pretends not to feel relieved. Maybe he’s been worrying over Louis’ attachment to Styles for nothing. Maybe.

But there’s something in Louis’ eyes that hardens. They turn cold and hollow, like ice, before they settle somewhere on the wall.

Liam ignores the hair standing up at the back of his neck, and forces a smile.

“Excellent,” he says, as he sidles past Louis.

He swallows around the empty feeling in his gut.  


  


**

  


He’s been observing Louis for the past hour. Louis, who has been fidgeting. Louis, who has been pawing at the left pocket of his jeans, something there demanding his attention. He is scattered, unfocused. Something constantly occupying his mind. His eyes keep darting down to said pocket when he thinks Liam isn’t looking, and keeps them intently bored when he knows he is.

That’s why Liam noticed. That’s why he’s been watching Louis for the last hour, trying to work out what the fuck happened. Because something happened, or is happening. Something’s changed. Louis’ never had to pretend to be anything where Liam was concerned, and he sure as hell never bothered.

So why is he bothering to do so now?

He can tell Louis is not okay. He’s had a scowl plastered to his face since walking in the door, and he’s been far more snarky than snappy. Which is a fine line with Louis, but still. Liam’s known him long enough to know the difference. That’s the thing—Liam _knows_ Louis.

Liam’s seen his fair share of not-okay Louis. Fuck knows he’s witnessed multiple meltdowns—not that they talk about them. No, no. They drink, they numb. Into oblivion. That’s their thing. That’s how they handle the shit storms— That’s why it’s more than a little disconcerting that Louis is being so very, very… _careful_ , Liam realizes with a jolt. Louis is being careful.

Liam’s seen it before, this filtered version of Louis. He’s just never been on the receiving end of it. The smooth features on the shiny exterior, drawing in—drawing away from what lies underneath.

Louis is clearly keeping something from him. The anxiety that comes with that realization is making its way to Liam’s lungs, making them feel constricted. He swallows it down, tries to loosen the rubber band currently squeezing out the oxygen. He needs to calm down.

He doesn’t _know_ that Louis is keeping something from him. Maybe Louis’ just not had the chance to bring it up—whatever _it_ is. He’d only just arrived when Liam had shoved him into his room, barking at him that he was late—which he was, _again_ —and telling him to get his arse into gear and get changed.

Liam was so occupied with prepping Louis for Horan, and dealing with Louis’ temporary faltering in the Styles conquest, that maybe he accepted too quickly when Louis conceded. And now they’re in the living room, Horan on his way in, and there’s no chance to discuss anything.

They’ll talk about Styles later, he tells himself. Liam will bring it up later. Maybe. If Louis does… So probably not.

But. First things first.

Liam sighs, pushing himself off the wall and slotting his smile into place. “Horan!”

  


**

  


Niall Horan is the personification of ‘a bull in a china shop’.

His voice is loud, his laugh louder and he doesn’t have an elegant bone in his body. He plops down in the middle of the sofa, lounging lazily into fine-woven cushions, and clunks the delicate china cup on its saucer, causing the housekeeper to visibly wince. His mother would have a field day. If Horan wasn’t a current objective, Liam might have liked him, he thinks.

The blond ball of chaos is a stark contrast to the meticulously posed setting of the Payne-Maliks. His casual cream trousers, powder blue sweater and messy blond hair at contrast with Louis’ styled quiff, dark trousers and fitted shirt. Seeing the two side by side, you’d never suspect that Niall was the one with the money and power.

Louis, who looks like a million dollars, is also blatantly obviously distracted. Niall couldn’t be an easier-to-get-along-with guy, all smiles and jokes. Yet, Louis seems to be struggling to be his usual charming self. He makes the odd remark here and there, filled with smirks and innuendo—to which Niall is so very responsive, bless him—but every few minutes Louis seems to lose the plot, frowning to himself, eyes clouding over.

Luckily, Horan doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with being shamelessly hit on (and probably trying to work out how he feels about that). He seems uncomplicated, though. On some level, Liam envies him a little.

“Think I really am gonna like it here,” Niall exclaims, grinning wide. Unabashed. That’s probably the best word for Niall Horan—Unabashed. He’s unpretentious. What you see is what you get, which is surprisingly refreshing.

“We’re not exactly boring, I can promise you that,” Liam grins. Louis catches Liam’s eye, and quirks an eyebrow at the genuine smile on Liam’s lips. _So what?_

“So, uh, you going to the thing tonight?” Niall asks, eyeing Louis. “I only got here yesterday, but me mum’s insistent that I go and meet everyone. She was real pleased about us hanging out today, though—you shoulda seen her.” He sets his cup down with another clang—the housekeeper winces again— “Wouldn’t stop banging on about how well I’m going to fit in here!” His smile is fucking blinding. _Jesus, this kid._

“I won’t have anyone to talk to besides you guys, though. Could be a bit boring if you’ve shit—er, other stuff—to do.” Niall awkwardly rubs the back of neck, looking caught.

Louis laughs. “We really don’t give a fuck if swear, Horan.”

“It’s more annoying when you don’t,” Liam says without thinking.

Niall grins wide, dropping his hand down in his lap.

“Thank, Jesus. I swear like a fuckin’ sailor and for the life of me, I can’t control it. Me mum says it’s me worst habit, but I think it’s one of my better ones.”

Liam can’t help but grin. What can he say? The Irish fucker is likable.

“Well, don’t you worry, Horan. You’re in a welcome place here,” Louis smirks, winking. “And, lucky for you, we’ll be there tonight. Which is actually brilliant, because—”

Louis suddenly cuts off, hand coming to rest on his pocket. Just like that, he’s distracted. Liam catches his eye.

“Sorry, I… Erm. What was I saying?”

“We’re going to my parents’ Gala…?” Liam prompts, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ah. Right. Yeah,” Louis mumbles. His fingers absently fumble at the pocketed phone. He looks up, blinking. “Are you?”

 _Jesus fucking Christ_. Liam almost face-palms.

“Yeah, I kinda have to,” Niall cackles, clearly amused. “Mum ‘n all. Remember? I was the one who asked _you_ if you were going.”

“Ah, yes. Mum. Right,” Louis mumbles, once again losing focus. Liam might smack him. He doesn’t usually resort to physical violence, but right now, there are no fucking guarantees. Louis must feel it, ‘cause he seems to pull himself back together a little.

“Well, then. Like I said—don’t worry. I’ll be there and I’m excellent company,” he grins winningly. Horan blushes a little. Thank fuck. They’re back on track. “I won’t leave your side, promise.”

“Cool,” Niall gushes, “I could use the company.”

“Perfect,” Louis smirks, eyes locking with Niall.

This seems like a good moment to leave them to have some ‘alone time’. Liam pretends to take a phone call, apologizing to Niall for having to leave the flat for a while, and ducks out of the room.

  


**

  


There’s nothing to do but wait, now. He’ll have to trust Louis to do his thing.

Under normal circumstances, Liam would bet good money on Louis’ ability to talk anyone into a fuck. But these don’t feel like normal circumstances, and if the last hour was any indication of Louis’ mindset—Liam’s a little worried, to be frank.

In all honestly, it’s not Louis’ ability he doubts—it’s his willingness. It’s unsettling. Because something has changed with Louis.

  


**

  
Liam approaches the door with caution, listening closely for any sign of what’s going on inside. He left Louis and Niall alone in there about an hour ago, which should be plenty of time for Louis to make his move. He hears quiet voices and then Niall’s honest-to-God _giggling_. Damn, Louis is good.

Liam exhales, relieved, as he opens the door, and prepares to feign shocked surprise at finding Louis and Niall together.

However, his surprised is not feigned, and his shock nothing but genuine, when he finds Niall with not Louis but Zayn. _Zayn_ , who avoids people like the Plague, is sitting next to Horan, body angled towards him, laughing quietly.

They look up as one, Niall’s eyes wide and fucking _sparkling_ , Zayn’s eyes quiet and a warm blaze as he takes in Liam.

Liam is rooted to the spot, half-tempted to go back out and check that he’s opened the right door. Because _what the fuck is going on_?

“What the—How—?” he stammers, blinking rapidly.

Niall bellows out a laugh. “Mate, are you alright?”

Uhm, fucking _no_.

Liam slides his eyes over to Zayn, unable with deal with Horan’s cheerfulness when the world isn’t making any fucking sense. Zayn meets his gaze before ducking his head, blushing and smiling at the floor. And that’s just— _Well, fuck_.

“Where’s Lou?” he asks Zayn.

“Dunno,” Zayn shrugs.

“He went to have a lie-down,” Niall says cheerily, thumbing in the direction of Liam’s bedroom. “Said something about a headache earlier.”

“He did?” Zayn asks Niall, confused. Niall nods.

“Oh, I must have missed that.” Zayn shoots Niall a warm smile before ducking his head again.

“Maybe you were a bit distracted,” Niall says, grinning wide. His cheeks the color of beetroot.

Zayn’s eyes light up, and it’s too fucking much. Liam’s going to kill Louis.

“Right,” he says, turning on his heel and stomping to the bedroom.

He’s got a little Yorkshire fucker to throttle.  
  


**

  
“This is about Niall, isn’t it?” Louis asks, adjusting his mask. He gestures to Niall and Zayn, who are standing awkwardly next to each other on the other side of the giant, decorated hall.

Zayn’s fidgeting with his ‘mask’—it’s a giant eyeball, adorned with neon green and black sharpie. Zayn made it himself, much to Martha’s horror—and Niall’s delight. (“That’s fuckin’ brilliant!”)

Niall, in turn, is wearing a black mask with a nose so long it’s a safety hazard. It’s reminiscent of those doctors’ masks they used to wear during the Plague, but somehow more horrifying. Zayn loves it, of course. Martha does not.

Liam watches them awkwardly shuffle from foot to foot, sneaking glances when the other isn’t looking.

“Couldn’t do one fucking thing, could you?” he grumbles at Louis.

This worked out just a little too well for him. Louis didn’t want to do it in the first place, and now, conveniently, he won’t have to. Fucking unbelievable.

“Liam,” Louis sighs, “Look at the way Zayn’s looking at him. Go on, really look.”

He gestures again to the odd couple across the room, Liam smacking down his hand at lightning speed. Right now, Martha nor Malik have found this development any cause for alarm, and Liam is determined to keep it that way.

“Don’t point,” he hisses at Louis. “Don’t draw attention to them.”

His eyes immediately shoot over to his mother, who is blessedly too preoccupied entertaining some CEO. Liam doesn’t doubt she’s keeping an eye on them, though.

“Sure thing, boss,” Louis rolls his eyes. “But look, yeah? Shut your gob and _look_.”

So he does. At that moment, Niall has seemingly decided to grow a pair and most likely said something inappropriate, because Zayn squawks out a laugh, turning crimson and ducking his head. The fucker looks happy.

“Yeah, what about him?” he shoots at Louis, averting his gaze from the warm fuzziness across the room.

“Liam,” Louis chides.

Liam looks away, chin jutted in defiance. He refuses to be happy about this.

“ _Li-am_ ,” Louis chastises, the way someone would a petulant child. Liam looks down at his tightly crossed arms, his back turned to Louis. Ugh, fine. Maybe he is acting like a one. Maybe.

He sighs, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Yeah, so what?” he says, turning to face Louis. “You know, _you_ were the one who was supposed to take care of Horan. _You_ were the one I told to do this. First Styles, now Horan—What the fuck has been going on with you?”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t pin this back on me, Liam. This is a whole ‘nother thing. This is beyond my control. Just look at the pair, will you? Just look at Zayn’s face. Look at the way he’s looking at that kid.”

And yeah, it’s hard to ignore. Zayn looks at Horan like he’s the fucking sun.

“Did you honestly want me to upset that?” Louis asks. “You know Zayn hates our game. I’m not doing that to him. I may be a right bastard and a ruthless piece of shit, but I wouldn’t fuck with our Zayn like that. Not when he’s taken such a liking to the bloke.” His eyes settle on Liam. “And you wouldn’t, either.”

 _Fuck Louis_. Because, no, he wouldn’t. It’s always his first instinct to protect Zayn, and this is no different. He’d never do anything to hurt Zayn. Not purposely, anyway. It’s just that—why can’t any of this bullshit seem to go to plan? Everything is fucking falling apart.

“Does Zayn even know about Niall? What we planned to do with him?” Louis asks, wincing as he tugs at the back of his mask.

“You know he doesn’t like hearing about that shit.”

He was there at the pub, of course, when Liam had had the (apparently-not-so) brilliant idea to send Louis after Horan. But they never discussed it after that.

“I’m aware, thanks,” Louis snaps, “But the way you’re acting—”

“He can do a lot fucking better than that walking stick.”

God, imagine if they actually become a thing, Zayn and Horan. Oh, shit. _Horan_. Horan’s mother. Although it would be satisfying to have her little pretense turn to shambles, it would also mean she’d be invited to functions, dinners etc.—And no. Just. _No_.

“No brother of mine is going with a son of Alice fucking Horan’s. I will not let him betray me like that.”

He’d have to make nice with Alice Horan—and there’s just no way that’s happening. Not a fucking chance.

“The kid isn’t that bad. Jesus,” Louis mutters. “You were even beginning to soften up to him a bit, admit it.”

“I was not,” Liam snaps.

“You were, though,” Louis sings, smirking. “You were beginning to like him a bit, weren’t you?”

Sometimes Liam really hates Louis.

“’Liking’ is far different from ‘tolerating’, Louis. Besides, I was with him for all of five minutes. Hardly enough time for me to give a fuck.”

Although, apparently enough time for Zayn to fall in love, and things to turn to shit, he thinks bitterly.

“Apparently not,” Louis smirks. Liam glares at him, shooting daggers. Of course, all that accomplishes is that Louis barks out a laugh.

“Oh, come on, Payno. Don’t ruin the night because brother dearest has fallen in love. I think they’re kind of cute.”

“Yeah, well, you would,” he grumbles. Fuck Louis. And his smirks. And his ‘cute’. This whole thing is turning to garbage.

He watches as Alice Horan keeps pulling Niall into introductions, and away from Zayn’s wondering eyes. He also watches Niall shake hands, politely smiling, before immediately turning back to Zayn (who beams every single time). _Fuck_ , he really wishes they weren’t cute.

He really wishes he could hate Niall, but Louis is right—though no one will ever hear him say it, and they can’t prove a thing—Horan actually seems a decent bloke. Liam still thinks Zayn can do better, but Zayn could show up with fucking Thor, God of Thunder, and Liam wouldn’t think he was good enough for Zayn. So, you know. He might be biased.

Then Niall gets called over by the bartender— _how the fuck do they know each other, Horan arrived yesterday?_ —who winks at Niall and hands him a bottle of booze. Zayn’s face falls, looking heartbroken, as he watches the exchange. And _no_. Absolutely not. If Horan thinks he can play Zayn like that he’s got another thing coming.

Liam is gearing up to storm over and imprint Niall’s face permanently on that shiny fucking bar when Niall turns back to Zayn, whispering a few words, extracting another giggle from Zayn, before gently leading him over to the bar.

Niall’s hand is on his lower back, and Zayn looks quietly nervous and very pleased. Niall radiates, grinning wide and proud as he introduces Zayn to the bartender. Niall’s glued to Zayn’s side, and Zayn leans into the touch as they chat and laugh— Wow. Zayn is _laughing_ , with strangers. Well, shit.

He steals a glance at Louis, who is watching Zayn and Niall with a fond smile. He looks warm, soft. Which is a surprising and very nice look on him. He’s fucking stunning.

Liam watches Louis as he watches the two boys’ small touches and warm giggles with quiet curiosity. Is this something Louis wants for himself, Liam wonders. Is it something they could have?

“You know,” Louis interrupts his thoughts, “Another good thing about this unexpected little development—”

Liam feels his skin heat, like Louis might have somehow heard his ridiculous thoughts.

“—is that it will give me more time to focus on Harry. Our main project.”

Yeah, that’s all they need, Liam thinks bitterly, for Louis to get even more caught up in Styles.

“If he bloody shows,” he mumbles.

“Even if he doesn’t,” Louis says, turning to Liam, putting a warm hand on his arm. “It still gives me better focus. He’s a tough nut to crack, that one.”

Liam looks into Louis’ face, watches Louis’ careful expression as he swallows.

“But I will get him eventually,” Louis says, meeting Liam’s eyes. “I won’t fail, Liam. I will get him. And I will have you.”

Liam feels some of the tension seep out of his limbs. He searches Louis’ eyes—so kind and warm not five minutes ago—for any trace Louis might want the same thing. He’s not sure he’ll find it. But. Louis’ words are exactly what he wants, needs to hear. And he desperately wants to believe them.

“Promise,” he says quietly, and it sounds a lot more vulnerable than he’d intended. Almost pleading.

“I promise.”

The words resonate in Liam’s mind. _I promise_. He really wants to believe them. He really wants to—

“The fuck is that?”

Liam snorts a laugh, pointing over Louis’ shoulder. “Look what that kid’s wearing.”

A boy, wearing a bright, glittering orange and gold butterfly mask slowly walks in. His mask is absolutely ridiculous, in the best possible way. Liam doesn’t know the kid, from the looks of it, but he’s definitely got balls.

He wonders if his mother has spotted him yet. Where’s Zayn and Niall? They’d fucking love this kid.

He takes in the rest of the boy, the pink dress-shirt, light trousers and shiny shoes. The kid looks sharp, he must admit, albeit a bit _extra_.

“What is that kid wearing?” he wonders aloud, trying to inspect his mask from this distance. It’s definitely a butterfly, wings dipped in bright pink glitter, and definitely very sparkly. It looks handmade, which is even fucking better. He laughs again, delighted.

“Why are you laughing?” Louis asks sharply, turning on Liam with even sharper eyes.

Wait—What did he miss? “What?”

“Why are you fucking laughing?” Louis snaps, his eyes flicking back to the boy with a sympathetic look. Why—

“Oh,” Liam says, following Louis’ gaze, “Oh, that’s the Styles boy, isn’t it?”

Louis swallows, eyes still fixed on Harry.

“Well, you certainly recognized him very quickly. Is he often this ridiculous?”

If so, Liam might actually like the kid. He wouldn’t have thought Styles had it in him, being the quiet type at school. Still waters and all that, he supposes. He does look proper ridiculous.

“Fuck off, Liam,” Louis snarls.

“What? Why are you—”

“I need to get a drink,” Louis growls, ploughing past Liam in the direction of the punch bowls.

 Liam can only stare after him… _What the fuck just happened?_  
  


**

  
He watches Louis, still standing by the punch bowls, watching Harry. Harry is slowly making his way around the room, nodding to people here and there. Some express their compliments, others their ridicule (although not to his face). The boy seems mostly unaffected by either. He rather seems distracted, his eyes slowly gliding over masked faces.

Louis is looking a little pale, pouring down one drink after another. Whether he’s trying to steel himself or drown himself, Liam isn’t quite sure.

He walks over and places an encouraging hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Go to him.”

Louis doesn’t respond, other than a curt nod, an intake of breath, and he takes a tentative step forward.

He slides down his mask, covering his face, and Liam wonders if Harry will recognize him as quickly as Louis recognized him.

He watches as Louis slowly follows an oblivious Harry around the room. Then Louis changes tactics, moving in the opposite direction. He starts circling the room one way as Harry continues to circle it the other.

He watches the two circling around one another, Harry now aware and matching Louis’ pace. It’s like a dance. They seem entirely oblivious to the people around them, only focused on each other, yet weaving around the other dancers effortlessly. Liam finds himself unable to look away, intrigued.

The two move increasingly slowly, until they’re moving at a positively glacial pace. Louis stops. He’s stood in the middle of the dance floor, colorful shapes twirling around him in a flurry. He looks dangerous and so very appealing, the black glitter of his wolf mask sparkling alluringly. The blue of his eyes so bright by the offset of their black frame, Liam can almost see them from here.

Styles must see it, too, because he slowly starts moving towards Louis with long, careful steps.

Harry doesn’t stop until he’s facing Louis, toes touching. For a second, neither of them move, and Liam realizes he’s actually holding his breath— _Jesus_. He can feel the fucking tension from here.

Louis raises a hand—an invitation to dance. Can Louis dance? Liam didn’t think so, but Louis seems to be winging it, as Styles graciously accepts. And—

They waltz. _Wow_. Liam did not see that coming. It’s not like it’s unexpected—it’s a Gala, so of course people dance. He just hadn’t thought Louis would be one of them. But here they are.

Louis leads Harry, who follows the surprisingly smooth movements without missing a beat.

Suddenly, Harry stops, pulling Louis to a halt. They’re still holding hands, Harry stepping closer into Louis’ space. _This is it_ —what they’ve been working for. Liam keeps his eyes trained on the pair.

Harry pulls Louis, ever so gently, closer, until his body is aligned with Louis’. Louis, who isn’t fucking moving. Who isn’t doing anything other than standing there, seemingly rooted to the spot.

Liam knows it’s gone wrong before it’s happened, and there’s nothing he can do but watch. Watch, as Harry inches closer. Watch, as Louis sharply pushes Harry out of his space. Harry stumbles a little.

Liam can’t breathe.

Louis folds his hands over Harry’s, his eyes never leaving his face, before pressing a kiss to them.

Liam watches, as Louis slowly steps away, one careful step after another before finally letting go of Harry’s hands.

Then Louis wheels around, heading for the exit.

Liam manages to catch him as he’s about to walk out, walking so fast he’s practically running.

“Lou!” He grabs the sleeve of Louis’ jacket. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Louis roughly pulls out of his grip, and storms out, leaving Liam staring after him, wondering what the fuck just happened. And more importantly, _why_ ?

He turns to see Harry, whose eyes followed Louis, watching him. He’s still stood in the middle of the dance floor, by himself. He looks so lost, Liam feels a pang somewhere in chest. _Fuck_.

Harry’s eyes meet his own, and he swears he can see the kid’s confusion from across the room.

In his peripheral, someone moves—Zayn. _Fuck, how much has he seen?_

Zayn pulls off his mask and, from the knitted brow and pained look on his face, he’s seen enough. He mumbles something to Niall, who looks confusedly from Zayn to Liam. Zayn shakes his head almost imperceptibly, before turning away, shoulders hunching, Niall on his tail. He looks disappointed and it’s fucking painful.

Liam watches two disappear into the crowd.

When he turns back to look at Harry—He’s gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read this, and for sticking with this little experiment.  
> As always, it's much appreciated, and please feel free to leave any feedback (good or bad).


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